So Swiftly
by dorkysamantha
Summary: Because two puzzle pieces should always fit together, no matter how broken and messy the rest of the puzzle is. AU Quick story interpreting Taylor Swift songs as they relate to the heartbreak and healing of a broken relationship.
1. Breathe

**Author's Note: This is the beginning of a story that I am **_**so **_**excited about writing. Please note that it switches between past and present. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_I see your face in my mind as I drive away_

'_Cause none of us thought it was going to end that way_

_People are people and sometimes we change our minds_

_But it's killing me to see you go after all this time_

_Music starts playing like the end of a sad movie_

_It's the kind of ending you don't really want to see_

'_Cause it's tragedy and it'll only bring you down_

_Now I don't know what to be without you around_

_And we know it's never simple; Never easy_

_Never a clean break; No one here to save me_

_You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand_

_And I can't breathe without you_

_But I have to breathe without you_

_But I have to_

* * *

Quinn shouldn't be driving. Her mother, Judy, always told her not to drive if she's upset. Apparently, it's dangerous. She needs to get home, though. She needs to get as far away from his house as possible. She needs to curl up in bed and cry herself to sleep, as she's gotten so used to doing. She needs to fall into a sleep and have dreams about perfect love. Because she understands now that perfect love does not exist in this world. Now she knows that her dreams will always be so much more beautiful than reality. Reality is killing her.

Judy was right—driving in a state of distress _is _dangerous. Hot tears pool in Quinn's bottom eyelids and make it impossible to see. The result: loss of control—over the vehicle, her life, everything… how metaphorical. She drifts into the left lane and swerves to avoid a head-on collision with a truck that looks just like _his_. She doesn't remember making it to the shoulder safely, just the realization that she almost just crashed and died. It's a state of shock and confusion, because she should feel blessed to have avoided that crash, right? Instead, she wishes that it happened and ended this mess. The after life is much more simple and happy. Quinn wishes that she could have crashed into the truck that looked like _his, _the way she crashed into _him. _The way they crashed into _each other._

She realizes how completely fucked up it is to _want _to die. Her arms curl around her tiny, frail body (she didn't think it was possible to lose weight but, lately, she hasn't been eating) and she tries to hold herself together that way. She's not strong, though. She used to be strong until he broke her. She falls apart right there on the side of the road, curling into herself and bursting into sobs that start off silent and become louder with each car that passes her.

They weren't supposed to end like this. He was perfect—_They _were perfect. She remembers everything beautiful about him in that moment: His crooked smile that made breathing nearly impossible, the way his handsome jaw clenched and unclenched when he concentrated, the way he'd wrap Quinn in his arms. She swore that her whole life could pass by, and she'd be content to live in his embrace forever. She'd never feel his arms again—starting today. She cries louder, using the steering wheel to stay somewhat upright. Her tiny hands make futile attempts to wipe the tears away, because he's not here to comfort her.

He's not here, period. He never will be, because they're over.

How is she supposed to breathe without him?

She can't believe they're _really _over.

* * *

Puck shouldn't be drinking. His mother, Henriette, always told him not to drink is he's upset. Apparently, it's dangerous. He needs alcohol to survive, though. He needs to become as numb as possible. He needs to drink himself into a state of oblivion, as he's gotten so used to doing. He needs to slip into a dreamlike state, because he understands now that being drunk is so much easier than facing reality. Reality is killing him.

Henriette is right—drinking in a state of distress _is _dangerous. He's had six shots too many. The result: Alcohol burning his throat on its way back up. He springs from his couch and sprints to the bathroom, knocking over _her _perfume on his way to the toilet. He's hunched over the porcelain bowl, releasing his most favorite numbing agent. He doesn't remember ever making himself throw up from too much alcohol intake. He wonders if this is the beginning of alcoholism. He is becoming his father. Keeping this up could lead to alcohol poisoning—maybe he _wants _that. He wishes his liver would cripple and end this mess. The after life is much more simple and happy.

He realizes how fucked up it is to _want _to die. He pushes back from the toilet and leans against the bathroom wall, holding his head in his hands in an attempt to quiet his racing mind. He's not strong enough, though. He pretended to be strong until _she _left. He falls apart right there in his bathroom, curling into himself and breaking into loud, strained sobs.

They weren't supposed to end like this. She was perfect—_They _were perfect. He remembers everything beautiful about her in that moment: Those unbelievably gorgeous eyes—he counted the colors in those eyes— The way her beauty was unreal when she slept next to him, the way she'd sing to Noah. He swore that his whole life could pass by, and he'd be content just to listen to her sing forever. He'd never hear her tiny voice again—starting today. He cries louder, using the wall to stay somewhat upright. He reaches for a beer bottle on the bathroom sink in an attempt to numb himself even _more, _because she's not there to comfort him.

She's not here, period. She never will be, because they're over.

How is he supposed to breathe without her?

He can't believe they're _really _over.


	2. Enchanted

**Author's Note: I'm already receiving some awesome feedback for this story! This one is a bit more planned out than **_**Details, **_**so it will not be so rushed and seemingly half-assed. Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_This is me praying that this was the very first page_

_Not where the storyline ends_

_My thoughts will echo your name_

_Until I see you again_

_These are the words I held back_

_As I was leaving too soon_

_I was enchanted to meet you_

_Please don't be in love with someone else_

_Please don't have somebody waiting on you_

_This night is sparkling, don't you let it go_

_I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home_

_I'll spend forever wondering if you knew_

_I was enchanted to meet you_

_This night is flawless, don't you let it go_

_I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone_

_I'll spend forever wondering if you knew_

_I was enchanted to meet you_

* * *

Rolling _fucking _Stone. Quinn Fabray has landed a dream job. Putting herself through college paid off and, if there was ever a time to doubt her career choice, now was most certainly not it. Almost as soon as she's graduated with a degree in journalism, she had six interviews lined up. She doesn't go to all of them, because Rolling Stone offered her an interim position right off the bat. Apparently, one of their review journalists has left on maternity and they're desperate for someone to fill-in. Quinn isn't making half as much as the substitute, but whatever—it's Rolling _fucking _Stone.

Tonight, she has to go to a concert at Radio City Music Hall and review the opening act. The magazine has paid for VIP seating, so she's in the front row. Tough job, huh? Having to sit front and center at a rock concert that's being held in one of the most famous venues in New York City? Quinn Fabray has never had it so good. She dressed up for the event because, hello, it's her first story as a published editor. She doesn't know how beautiful she looks, even if she is a little full of herself. Her white skinny jeans fit just right. Seriously—who knew her ass could look so good? And her pink, ruffly top makes her milky skin _glow. _Quinn had her roommate, Brittany, curl her hair for the occasion, too. She doesn't usually trust Brit with hot tools, but today is an exception. Shit, she looks good.

She gets to Radio City Music Hall early, because she has to interview the band before watching them perform. They're called _Courage 2.0, _which Quinn thinks is stupid. She'll pretend to love it, though, because that's what being professional is all about. Right? There are four band members: Finn Hudson, Sam Evans, Artie Abrams and Noah Puckerman. She knows that one member, Artie, is in a wheelchair and wonders how this band expects to become successful with a handicapped band member. She'll save judgment for _after _the show, though.

It's like the venue workers were expecting her because, well, they were. She shows up and presents her PRESS pass, immediately gaining access to the backstage area. _Courage 2.0_'s members are seated in a circle of huge comfy chairs, surrounding a coffee table that has too much junk food on it. One of them as a fistful of Doritos, and Quinn can tell that it isn't his _first _fistful. Another one, with huge lips, is watching _Avatar _on his Macbook Pro. Quinn wonders how his lips got so gigantic. A third member is turning his wheelchair in circles and humming to himself. Quinn knows that's Artie. The last member is sitting with is legs slung over the arms of his chair, and he isn't wearing a shirt. His sweatpants hang from his hips in in the most delicious way, and it takes a second for Quinn to compose herself, because she's pretty sure she's never seen somebody so handsome.

"_Courage 2.0?" _she chimes after quietly studying all of them, because none of them notice her. "Hi, I'm Quinn. I'm from Rolling Stone." She holds her notebook by her side, gripping it tightly because she's nervous, and holding out her free hand for anybody who'd like to shake it. After a few seconds, she feels stupid for offering a handshake, because they're all just _staring _at her. She blinks a few times, takes a deep breath, and starts to reel her arm back in when they all leap into action (except Artie—he can't leap).

"Hey, Quinn" says the slightly chubby band member. He wipes his cheesy fingers on his dark wash jeans and extends his arm to shake Quinn's hand. If she wasn't trying to be professional, she would have tried to avoid that handshake. "I'm Finn Hudson. Drums." He's looking at her like she's a giant Dorito and he wants to eat her.

"Hi, Finn," she responds quietly, trying to ignore the shirtless member's eyes, which she has felt since introducing herself. He's just been _staring_ at her with this mysterious smirk, and now and then she steals glances through her eyelashes to see if he's still watching. "Nice to meet you."

"Sam I am," says the blonde member. He slaps Quinn on the back instead of shaking her hand, and she furrows her brow, because that's _rude. _"Guitar."He offers a goofy, crooked smile, and Quinn can't stay mad at him for the back slap because he looks kind of stupid.

"Hi," she coughs out, looking over at the shirtless wonder. He must be Noah, because she knows that Artie is in the wheelchair. He's still staring at her. She wonders absentmindedly if those are his bedroom eyes, because there's a strange tightening in the pit of her stomach, but she doesn't know him well enough to tell yet. When she works up the courage to shake _his _hand, Artie rolls in between them and reaches up to grab Quinn's hand and kiss it.

"Artie- master," he greets with a grin, not trying to hide the fact that he is _really _into Quinn. It's sweet, but Quinn doesn't usually go for nerds. "Vocals."

"Hey, Artie. Nice to meet you," she chirps, bowing her head and pulling her hand away politely, because he's been holding onto it for just a little too long.

Finally, it's time for her to exchange _Hello_s with Noah. She swallows the lump in her throat, because he's still staring at her. He hasn't looked away, and it's starting to make her blush.

"You must be Noah, then," she squeaks, mentally kicking herself for sounding like such a fangirl. This guy must get girls falling all over him day and night—seriously, look at him. Quinn Fabray is not here to be another one of those teenie-boppers. She's here to write a professional article for Rolling Stone. She realizes that she's been staring at him for too long and clears her throat, extending her arm to shake his hand.

His lips are still curled up in that smirk, and he slowly brings his hand up to meet hers. "Puck," he corrects in a dark voice, and Quinn almost chokes on her own spit because his voice is so velvety and perfect. "Call me Puck. I'm the bass player, and I sing."

"Right…" she mumbles, feeling embarrassed because the way he's looking at her makes her feel naked. "Puck… It's nice to meet you…." She shakes his hand and has to ignore the fact that his skin on hers is sending shockwaves up and down her spine. She clears her throat again. "All of you. It's nice to meet all of you." And she pulls her hand back after what seems like a handshake that doesn't last long enough. Because she wants to feel that shockwave again.

She can't remember asking all of the questions she has written down, because Noah—Puck—_Puck _hasn't taken his eyes off of her and she finds it impossible to concentrate. It wasn't supposed to be like this: She's supposed to be poised and professional. She's supposed to be Rolling Stone's next big journalist. Instead, she's mumbling and stuttering like an idiot because of the freaking _bass_ player. She wants to hate him for throwing her off, but then there's those eyes. She spends the interview stealing looks his way to see if he's still staring at her _like that _and, every time, he is.

When the interview is over, she has to shake off the embarrassment and quietly bow out. They all thank her for coming, except Puck. He just nods at her and licks his lips. She almost shits out her heart when he does that, and fumbles to turn and find the door. After trying to push it open, she realizes the huge _PULL _sign on it and immediately hates herself. Why is she such an idiot? After finally getting her shit together, she finds the nearest bathroom and has to give her reflection a pep talk before wandering to her seat.

The concert will begin in a half hour.

* * *

Okay... What the _fuck _was that? Puck was pretty sure their Rolling Stone interviewer was pregnant, because he spoke on the phone with her a few weeks ago. This chick was definitely _not_ pregnant. In fact, she had to have the most perfect body Puck had ever seen. She's beautiful. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and he could tell that she was nervous around him, but he couldn't help it. Her clothes hugged her in all the right places, but what _really _threw Puck off was her pair of eyes. If he wasn't a badass, he'd say that she had perfect eyes. They were, like, three different colors that made up a crystal clear hazel.

Whatever. So she had pretty eyes. Big deal. It's time to perform. He sighs when she leaves the backstage area, shaking his head and trying to figure out what just happened and lazily throwing on a pair of jeans and a grey V-neck shirt. He wishes that he could just perform naked, because his body gets him _all _the ladies.

Okay, fuck this Rolling Stone chick for being so distracting. Puck wishes she'd do something bitchy so that he has a _real _reason to be mad at her. He spends the whole performance looking down at her and feeling his heart stop every time she flashes a grin. What the _fuck? _Stop looking at him like that. She's swaying her hips to the beat of the drum, and Puck actually _stops _playing bass to stare at her. Those impossibly hazel eyes meet his, and he's pretty sure the whole world around him disappears, because he can't see anybody else but her.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Sam growls, and Puck snaps his head around to realize his band mates are all annoyed with him. Oh….. he forgot to keep playing. This happens three more times during their opening act, and Puck knows he's going get shit for it later. Oops.

It doesn't matter though, because he basically eye fucked the most perfect human being on planet Earth tonight.

Too bad they'll never see each other again.


	3. Last Kiss

**PRESENT DAY**

* * *

_I loved your handshake meeting my father_

_I love how you walk with your hands in your pockets_

_How you'd kiss me when I was in the middle of saying something_

_There's not a day I don't miss those rude interruptions_

_Now I'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes_

_All that I know is I don't know how to be something you'd miss_

_Never thought we'd have a last kiss_

_Never imagined we'd end like this_

_Your name_

_Forever the name on my lips_

* * *

Nobody ever warned Quinn about this kind of heartache. They all said that breakups suck, but nothing has prepared her to miss another person this way. It's been three days, and she swears her heart is caving in.

It's all over.

Quinn's eaten four meals in the past three days. She's gotten out of bed only a handful of times. Mostly, she's slept. Her time awake is spent crying and remembering him.

She has, to her dismay, become one of _those _girls. One of those girls who handles a breakup like it's the end of the world when, really, life should go on. Her whole life does not, and _should _not, revolve around Noah Puckerman. But it does. Oh, it does.

She's sitting cross-legged in the middle of her hardwood floor, wearing nothing but his pink button-down dress shirt and his favorite pair of black lace panties.

She made him buy this shirt because, "Real men wear pink." It was a hushed battle inside of American Eagle, but the badass caved and bought it for Quinn. She grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

She remembers that day now, and she wishes she didn't. She wishes that she could forget all of the times he made her smile, because it makes her want him back. She wants to remember the times she'd cry over him, the times he treated her badly. That would make this easier. That would validate all of her reasons for ending things. She feels that wearing his shirt this way has made her dignity vanish, but she doesn't want her dignity. She wants her Noah.

The tears must have run out, or something, because she hasn't cried in a few hours. Maybe that means she's ready to start getting over him, but she just feels dried up and _empty. _There's no motivation to get up and carry on like a normal human being. Her dirty hair is scraped back into a loose messy bun, and there are dark circles under her tired eyes. She's surrounded by _his _things. His sweatshirt. His Converse sneakers. His guitar pick. His vinyl KISS record. His letter.

His letter.

She shouldn't read it. This hurts too much already. Reading that fucking letter will only make her fall apart again. She knows this, but she's reaching for it anyways.

It's written on a napkin, because there was no paper available at the party. She remembers that party—the second time they met. He was wearing a suit. She wore her favorite dress.

_Dear Quinn,_

_Congratulations! Your dress has officially received the Badass Seal of Approval. Please wear it on our date… Yes, I am taking you on a date. Next week. _

_From, Puck_

He was romantic when he wanted to be. She reads the note and feels her heart wrench. Everything used to be so _simple. _When did things get so complicated?

She hears the door unlock downstairs and feels more than slightly relieved that Brittany is home. She's been visiting her girlfriend and their best friend, Santana, in Kentucky for the past week. She doesn't know about the breakup, but Quinn finds comfort in knowing that she won't be alone now.

"Quinnifer!" Brittany chirps from downstairs. Quinn hears the irregular beat of her steps and knows that she's skipping, not walking. Brittany is innocent and adorable that way. God bless her. Quinn can't answer her, though, because she hasn't actually said a word to anybody since the breakup. "Quiiiiiin!" Brittany calls again, and Quinn hears her voice grow closer. She skips up the stairs, around the corner and down the hallway until she makes it to Quinn's room. She bursts through the door with a grin.

"Hey, I'm—Quinn? What's going on?" Brittany's grin has quickly melted from her face, and Quinn loves her for looking so completely _torn _at the sight of her broken best friend. "Are you sad because you found out that Lord Tubbington doesn't _actually _poop candy bars?"

Quinn spits out a weak, muted chuckle, but doesn't smile. She slowly shakes her head no and looks up at Brit with glassy eyes. "No," she croaks, her recently unused voice crackling. "It's over… Noah and I, we're over."

"Oh," Brittany whispers, and she looks like she's about to cry. Quinn loves her for that. Without waiting another second, Brittany is on the floor next to Quinn, pulling her into the most sincere hug Quinn's ever felt. "I'm so sorry," she breathes into Quinn's ear, and it's the first apology she's believed in weeks.

Spoiler alert: there were even _more _tears. Quinn didn't think it was possible, but Brittany's embrace pushed her over the edge. She wraps her tiny arms around her best friend and lets herself feel safe to just _sob. _For the past three days, nobody has been here to hold her while she cries. To be held and protected is much better than crying by oneself. They're not Noah's arms, but they'll do. Brittany just holds Quinn tighter and rocks back and forth, tracing soothing circles into her back and quietly telling her that _It'll be okay _over and over. Quinn can tell that Brittany may not necessarily believe this, but she pretends to have confidence for her best friend.

She never imagined they'd end like this.

* * *

Before Quinn, Noah Puckerman knew no heartbreak. He swore he never would, too. But here he is, feeling like a complete fuck up with zero ambition and _no _reason to get out of bed. Quinn used to be his reason. Now, he has nothing.

Badasses aren't supposed to hurt this way. They don't have feelings, actually. But, damn, he misses her.

It's all over.

He's been drunk for most of the past three days. When he's not drunk, he's throwing up from a hangover while simultaneously reaching for more alcohol. It's not working though, because he still feels _her. _The whole point of his drinking is to _stop _feeling her. It's to stop feeling anything, actually. Because, God, give him _one _reason not to crave numbness.

He has, to his dismay, become one of _those _guys. One of those guys whose whole world stops spinning because a girl left them. One of those guys who'd do anything to go back in time and alter major life decisions that revolve around _one _person. He swore he'd never be that guy. He hates being this guy. There are billions of people on planet Earth, but Noah Puckerman is stuck on, and heartbroken over, one Quinn Fabray. The most beautiful girl in his world. _His _girl, and he let her go. He's an idiot. He hates himself.

He's laying in an unmade bed (keeping to the left, because Quinn slept on the right side), wrapped in a blanket that she knit him. Yeah, she knit, because there wasn't _one_ fucking thing that Quinn Fabray couldn't do. He hates her for that. Before she came along, he swore that only Grandmas and homeless people knit but, shit, she looked so beautiful when she did. Her lips pursed and she furrowed her brow in complete and utter concentration. Gorgeous. Noah has, also, doused his pillow with her perfume. He can't stand being away from her, the fact that he's lost her, and not smelling her. At least, this way, he can close his eyes and smell her. Her perfume is so sweet and pure and _lively, _just like her. His girl.

At least thirty times today, he's replayed a video of her on his Macbook. It's a video that she didn't—and still doesn't—know about; Because he kept the camera hidden from her. She'd get embarrassed if she knew that she was being recorded.

In this video, she is sitting in the middle of his bed with his acoustic guitar in hand. All she's wearing is a tank top and underwear. She has bedhead. Perfectly messy, adorable bedhead that only _she _wears so well. She's absentmindedly playing random chords and humming bits and pieces of her favorite songs. Now and then, she'll look up at Noah and turn shy, blushing with a sweet smile. Every time he watches this video, that fucking _smile _nearly ruins him, but it's not until she sings two lines from a Taylor Swift song that he actually feels himself dying.

_I always forget to tell you I love you_

_I've loved you from the very first day_

She looks right at Puck, who's off-camera, when she sings that, and it's the most gorgeous, bell-like noise he's ever heard. He hates hearing it now, since they've been over, but he can't stop himself from playing it over.

He never imagined they'd end like this.


	4. Superstar

**Author's Note: So glad you guys are enjoying! Tell your friends, because my writing can't get better without feedback! **

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_I knew when I saw your face_

_I'd be counting down the ways to see you_

_You smile that beautiful smile_

_And all the girls in the front row scream your name_

_So dim that spotlight_

_Tell me things like, 'I can't take my eyes off of you'_

_I'm no one special_

_Just another wide-eyed girl who's desperately in love with you_

_Give me a photograph to hang on my wall_

_Superstar_

* * *

Quinn hates this dress. It's tight in all the wrong places, the floral pattern is not her favorite, and she thinks it makes her arms look fat. She's only just moved to New York, though, and this is the dress that she brought with her. Why'd she do that? She sighs, pulling it over her body and frowning at her less-than-pleasing appearance. PMS has also bloated her stomach about a thousand inches wider, and it couldn't have happened at a worse time.

Tonight's the Issue Release party for the edition of Rolling Stone that her article is in. Yeah, they have _parties _for the release of each month's issue of the magazine. Who knew? Remember: It's Rolling _fucking _Stone, too. So, chances are, it's going to be fancy as shit—One reason why she has to look good. Honestly, though, she knows the _real _reason for this slight panic and total disgust with her appearance: The guest list. There will be celebrities there, which is fucking unreal, but _Courage 2.0 _will also be there. You know… since there's an entire article about them in the magazine? They're also performing at the party. This means that Noah Puckerman, the world's most handsome bass player with a gorgeous voice and heart-stopping smile, will be there.

And Quinn looks like _this. _

"You look so pretty!" she hears from behind her, and her eyes rise to see a cheery Brittany in the mirror's reflection. Her arm is looped around Santana's waist, and they're both smiling widely. Santana looks like she's studying Quinn a bit more, but Brittany's grin is always kind-of goofy and clueless. Quinn immediately relaxes a bit, because their presence puts her at ease, and she runs her hands down the front of her dress.

"You think?" she asks nervously, scrunching up her nose as if to imply that she feels completely unattractive.

"Please," Santana scoffs, rolling her eyes and dropping her head on Brittany's shoulder. "The only person who can make that dress look better is me. You look hot."

Quinn turns around offers a shy smile, closing the distance between herself and her best friends to initiate a group hug. "Thanks, guys," she mumbles against San's shoulder. She pulls away and asks Brittany, "Can I borrow your red lipstick? I think it would look good with this dress." She knows that she doesn't need to ask, but it's the polite thing to do.

After spending a bit too long on her makeup and _way _too long on her hair, her phone rings. It's her driver. That's right: Rolling Stone paid for a personal driver to bring Quinn to and from the party in a big black Escalade. Because they're _fancy. _She's forced to abandon her workstation at the mirror and be content with her makeup as it is, because her _driver _is here. She thinks that she could get used to saying that.

Apparently, this driver was a New York native, because he maneuvered in and out of traffic like a crazy person. Quinn had to bite her tongue more than once when he weaves in between cars illegally, but he delivers her (safely and in on piece) to the party in a record twenty-five minutes. If she was driving, it would've taken, like, forty five. She makes a mental note to brush up on her aggressive city driving, thanks her crazy driver, and hops out of the car.

God, there he is. Noah _freaking _Puckerman. Why is he standing by the door? Why can't Quinn have a couple more seconds of clarity before his smile turns her brain to mush again? He's standing with Finn, laughing at something and lazily shifting on his feet with his hands in his suit pockets. Shit, he looks _good _in a suit. No—he looks better than "good"—he looks _perfect. _

Quinn has stopped in her tracks, forgetting that she has to actually _walk _somewhere, because she's staring at Puck. It isn't until he looks over, smiles and waves, that she clears her throat and mentally scolds herself for being such an idiot. She waves back with a weak smile and scurries over to him, awkwardly tucking some stray hair behind her ear when she's finally close enough to have a conversation with him.

"Hey," he greets, and Quinn wonders if it's normal for that one syllable to drive her crazy. It's going to be a long night.

"Hi," she replies immediately, biting down on her bottom lip in an attempt to control herself. "It's good to see you again. Nice suit." She swallows, because what she really wants to say is, _Nice suit, you look fucking delicious, _but she decides against it.

Noah flashes a grin and responds with a casual, "Thank you, Miss Fabray…" his eyes quickly scan her dress and she forgets that she is, indeed, fully clothed. He says nothing about the dress. He probably hates it. _She _hates it. "Thanks for the awesome review, too. Capitol Records just gave us a call and they're talking record deal. I think it's all because of you," he chuckles.

"Really?!" Quinn squeals, and her hand is squeezing his arm. She realizes how… _flirty _that is and quickly retracts it. "That's awesome," she says, much calmer.

"Yeah, pretty fucking unreal," Puck agrees. His hand comes up to grab _Quinn's _arm this time, and he gives a light squeeze. She almost pees. "We're playing in, like, a half hour. Come inside with me."

"Okay…" she mutters, because anything else would be too hard to spit out with the way even his _eyes a_re smiling at her. He presses one hand into the small of her back and keeps it there for the entire duration of their walk inside. He probably doesn't know that it's burning her flesh and turning her on beyond belief. One hand. She plays it cool, though, and forces her eyes to stare ahead until they reach the party room.

Quinn's eyes widen, and she is completely awe-struck by the decorations. It's Moroccan themed, with earth-toned fabric dipping from the ceiling, twinkling white Christmas lights, and a tiny stage in the middle of the room. Surrounding the stage are dark wooden tables with burgundy leather armchairs to seat four at each table. "This is beautiful," she exclaims quietly, her mouth hanging open.

"So are you," Puck responds almost immediately, and her head snaps up to gaze at him. He bends and presses his cheek to Quinn's. "Nice dress," he whispers in her ear, and that's it. Her heart has officially stopped.

Before she can actually respond with something that _doesn't _make her sound like an insane person, he's slipped away and onto the stage, grabbing his bass to start tuning and preparing for his performance. Finn, Sam and Artie take their places a few minutes later, but she's still stuck staring at Noah.

She _loves_ this dress.

People start to file into the beautiful party room, and Quinn politely takes a seat where her nametag is placed. It's further from the stage, and she frowns when people sit in front of her and she can no longer see Puck. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, the sound of finger tapping a microphone is heard on the loudspeakers, and everybody's attention is on _Courage 2.0. _Quinn's attention is, unfortunately, on the head in front of her.

"Hold on," she hears a voice grumble over the speakers, and she hears the sound of shifting stools on stage until Noah's face appears. It's just his head that she can see, but they make eye contact and he smiles. "Okay… better." He takes his seat and keeps his eyes on hers.

"Evening, ladies and gentlemen," he chirps into the mic. "You look wonderful." His head is slightly dipped, he's gazing at Quinn through his eyelashes and smirking curiously, and _Quinn _knows that was meant for her. She feels her stomach tighten and her cheeks blush. Every other party guest believes that he's speaking to the crowd.

"In honor of this month's cover photo," he continues after clearing his throat and making an obvious effort to refocus his attention, "We'll be performing acoustic, unplugged versions of your favorite Taylor Swift songs."

A spotlight shines near Quinn, and her eyes follow everyone else's to land on—you guessed it—Taylor Swift. Taylor _fucking _Swift is thirty feet from her. She does her best not to die, but can't help the way her mouth has dropped open. This is, like, the best night ever.

And then Puck starts singing. Quinn doesn't know how to handle all of the _amazing _in her life, but holy shit. He sings like an angel. They're covering Taylor's songs and giving them a slightly more soft rock, masculine edge—As if Taylor Swift could _get _any better. His eyes are trained on Quinn's and he is, clearly, singing these beautiful words _to her. _She doesn't believe it's actually happening until a few people turn and look at her, because they're curious about the grin on Noah's face.

_Drop everything now_

_Meet me in the pouring rain_

_Kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain_

'_Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile_

_Get me with those hazel eyes, baby, as the lights go down_

_Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around_

Hazel. He changed Taylor Swift's lyrics to match Quinn's eye color. And he sang it _at _Quinn in the most deliciously slow, scratchy voice. She's stopped breathing.

That's when she _really _realizes how perfect he is. He's truly wonderful, so special and _different _than anyone she's ever met.

He's a superstar.

* * *

Noah Puckerman's life is pretty fucking sweet right now. Since Quinn's review, the band has gotten calls from venues _and _record labels. They're about to meet with Capitol and start putting a record deal into motion. When Puck pictured his life as a teenager, he never expected to become successful at _anything. _Rolling Stone is a huge fucking deal. Capitol Records is a huge fucking deal. This _party _is a huge fucking deal. He feels like a superstar.

He's also shocked that Quinn could have gotten any better looking than their first time meeting, but she wears that dress like it was made for her. It fits perfectly and makes her look like the most perfect fairy Puck's ever seen. The way her hair is twisted and pinned up frames her flawless face, too, and his heart skips twenty beats every time he looks at her. Her red lipstick is distracting, too, because it's only exaggerating how perfectly shaped and delicious her lips look. He should be 100% focused on performing these songs and doing them justice, what with Taylor Swift watching, but he's a little too caught up in seeing her smile. He can't wait to finish this set so that he can sit with her and be close enough to touch.

She blinks a thousand times, and looks completely in love, when he changes the lyrics to match her eyes. What? Badasses can be romantic, too…. Sometimes.

Finally, he's finished playing. The whole room stands to clap for the band, they bow politely, and Puck doesn't bother saying anything to the other members before practically _skipping _offstage. Skipping, because he's so badass. He finds his table and frowns when he realizes how far it is from Quinn's.

"Finnocence," her barks, grabbing Finn's arm and pulling him to stand up. "Get up. Switch seats with Quinn."

"What the fuck, dude," Finn mumbles with a mouthful of complimentary pretzels. They've been offstage for thirty seconds and he's stuffing his face. "This is _my _seat."

Puck snickers, clearly unthreatened by Finn, and leans in close. "You're going to switch with Quinn, or I'll tell everybody that you pooped your pants when you ate too many Fiber One bars."

Finn pulls away with wide eyes and pouts at Puck. He opens his mouth to argue, but considers his options and ultimately gives up. Puck can see the resolve on his face and chuckles, because Finn Hudson is _such _an idiot. "Not cool, dude," he whines, but Puck is already walking towards Quinn. She finds his eyes and smiles. He wishes she'd stop doing that, because it makes him forget how to breathe.

"Come sit with me," he orders softly, holding out his hand and grinning down at her. She's looking up at him with those eyes, like she's shocked that he wants to sit with her. Actually, _he's _a little shocked that this perfect girl is so completely into him. He's not going to let her go, though. Because—seriously—look at her. She takes Puck's hand and his jaw clenches at the weird blood rush that results from her skin on his, but he keeps it together enough to hold her hand all the way to his table. He pulls out her chair, helps her in, and quickly takes his place next to her.

"I'm Finn Hudson?" she chuckles, picking up Finn's nametag with her eyebrows knit together and a quizzical smirk.

"I made him switch," Puck explains, and Quinn nods her head with a giggle. Holy shit—that sound. Her giggle. Sounds like a freaking _bell. _He almost loses his shit, but he's a badass—Remember?

This is bad. He's turning into an even mushier version of Finn.

"Hey," he hears next to the table, and he and Quinn turn to see who's greeting them.

It's Taylor. Swift.

Taylor Swift is standing at their table, towering over them because she's about fifteen feet tall and grinning wide. Noah can hold it together, because he doesn't _totally_ love her, but he can see Quinn's eyes bug out in his peripherals. "I'm Taylor," she explains, like they don't already _fucking _know that. "You guys did a great job with my songs. Thanks for that."

Noah's eyebrows raise and he turns towards Quinn. She's just gazing, like a deer in the headlights, looking completely overwhelmed and starstruck and _adorable. _He turns back to Taylor. "Thank you so much," he says coolly, and she turns her attention to Quinn.  
"You're a lucky girl," she says to Quinn, and Quinn snorts.

"N-No," Quinn stutters nervously in a shaky voice. "I mean, th-thank you, but we're not…. Um… He's not my boyfriend."

"And why not?" Taylor asks with her hands on her hips, chuckling. Quinn, apparently, can't pull it together enough to respond, because Taylor lingers awkwardly at the table for a few seconds before politely excusing herself and taking her seat a few feet away.

"Oh my _God," _Quinn mutters, and he drops her forehead to rest on Noah's shoulder. "That was amazing. I'm _starstruck."_

Noah cannot believe how Quinn is ridiculously cute, and impossibly sexy at the same time. He's never seen anybody like her. Even flustered, she's like a walking movie scene. Everything about her is perfect, and he feels silly for tracing her every feature over again. He's had her memorized since their first time meeting, but something about seeing her feels like home.

She picks her head up from his shoulder and smiles shyly with twinkly eyes. His eyes fall to her lips, and he'd do anything to lean forward and taste her. "Thank you," she breathes. "For the lyrics, I mean… I didn't know that you noticed my eyes."

He chuckles, because it's either chuckle or say, _How can I NOT notice your fucking eyes?, _so chuckle it is. They share silent eye contact for a few seconds before he reaches into his suit pocket to fish out a pen.

"Here…" he trails off, grabbing Quinn's napkin and scribbling on it. He hates his handwriting, but there's no time to type a nicely-formatted letter. This is spur-of-the-moment, romantic-type shit. Once his letter is finished, he folds the napkin neatly and hands it to Quinn with a grin. She takes it, opens and reads it, and looks back at him with a knowing smile.

Because they both know this is just the beginning.

_Dear Quinn,_

_Congratulations! Your dress has officially received the Badass Seal of Approval. Please wear it on our date… Yes, I am taking you on a date. Next week. _

_From, Puck_


	5. Picture to Burn

**Author's Note: These angst chapters are difficult for me to write, because I do not handle breakups well, so I'm sorry if they seem a bit… rushed. Trying my best! I do hope you're enjoying. :) **

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

* * *

_If you're missing me_

_You'd better keep it to yourself_

'_Cause coming back around here would be bad for your health_

…

_Watch me strike a match on all my wasted time_

_As far as I'm concerned_

_You're just another picture to burn_

* * *

Quinn read something, somewhere, about stages of grief. Apparently, there are five. All she remembers is that _Anger _is one stage. She's about 99% sure that the _Denial _stage has passed because now, every time she thinks about Noah, she sees red. Why would he put her through something like this? Furthermore—Why'd she _fall_ for any of it? How come she had to fall in lovewith somebody who only promised to take her heart in a vice grip until it collapsed?

She hates him. She swears that she hates him.

Quinn's _anger _consists of getting rid of him. Well, she's already gotten rid of _him, _but everything that _is _him remains in her apartment. There's no way she can get over him with his shit strewn across her bedroom.

It's time to purge her life of all things Noah Puckerman.

Starting with this stupid fucking sweatshirt. Why the hell was she torturing herself this way, wearing his sweatshirt? It's too big on her, it smells bad, and grey is so _not _color. Before, it was her favorite thing to wear at home because it, actually, smells just like him and it's almost as if his arms are wrapped around her. Right now, though, she's convinced that it's made from the Devil. She glares at the mirror and violently peels it from her tiny frame, immediately becoming much colder when the air hits her silky skin. She reaches for a sweatshirt that is much smaller and her size. It's made from pink, velvety material and the back is decorated with rhinestones that spell out the word JUICY. Because she's classy, you see.

She chucks Noah's sweatshirt into a huge cardboard box labeled _Fuck face. _Her eyes linger on the box for a while and, for a second, she feels herself getting welled up. Then she remembers—No—She's _angry. _This is her angry stage. After this, she'll be over him. That means that it's time to suck it up and _hate _him. Because he's not as perfect as she'd originally thought. He's a cold, manipulative _liar. _And she hates him.

She swears that she hates him.

His sneakers are next—Why are these even in her apartment? She rolls her eyes and tosses them into the _Fuck face_ box, immediately remembering the earring he had pinned to one of them. It's Quinn's earring—a tiny pearl that lost its partner somewhere along the way. Noah pinned it to his shoe, because he thought that romantic or something. Quinn used to think it was just _adorable, _and now it makes her want to puke. She scurries to the box, unclasps her earring and sets it on her nightstand.

Noah's vinyl records. Noah's mix CDs made on Valentine's day. Pictures of Quinn and Noah. Noah's shirts. So many of Noah's shirts. Noah's boxers. Noah's toothbrush. Noah's sticky notes left to surprise Quinn after work. Noah's razor. Roses from Noah that are, now, dead and dried up.

There is _too much _Noah in Quinn's life. That ends now. His stuff is all neatly contained in the box, and Quinn could not be more excited to get rid of it.

"Brittany!" she calls, bounding down the stairs with her arms wrapped around the box. "Here," she grunts, setting the box down on the kitchen counter and sliding it towards Brittany. She's eating a bowl of Macaroni and looking at Quinn as if she has twenty heads. "This is all of Puck's shit," Quinn quickly explains because, clearly, the _Fuck face _label is not enough of an indicator. "Can you bring it to him? I don't want it anymore."

"It says 'fuck face' on it…" Brittany trails off, examining the box with a worried expression.

"Yes," Quinn huffs. "That's him. Get rid of this please?"

Brittany frowns and looks up at Quinn with a knowing expression. Quinn hates when she does that. She hates when somebody as oblivious as Brittany looks so _maternal. _"Quinnie," she begins, and Quinn feels herself cringe. She _hates _that nickname, because hearing it is always a warning sign of an impending lecture. "I think you should wait a little bit longer to get rid of his stuff. It's too soon. You're only going to miss him more."

Quinn knows she's right, but rolls her eyes and shakes her head immediately. "No. It's been two weeks. I want it gone. Please, Brit. Just give it back to him."

"I don't want to. Plus, what are you going to wear to bed?"

"Excuse me?"

"If you get rid of this stuff, you're gonna have to sleep _naked…_" Brittany explains, her eyebrows raising in concern. "I mean, his clothes are all you sleep in."

Quinn scoffs a humorless chuckle and shakes her head. Brittany's innocence is funny to her sometimes. "Fine," she spits out. She's annoyed now, and she lets it show as her hands violently lift the box again. "I'll just throw it all in the dumpster then."

Quinn starts to make her way to the door, more than ready to actually _throw away _his shit, when Brittany leaps into action and steps in her tracks. "No!" she shouts, grabbing the box with a panicked expression. "No. You know what? You're right. I'll bring it to him."

Quinn narrows her eyes at Brittany and crosses her arms over her chest. "Why are you so concerned about me throwing his shit away?"

"Because.." Brittany trails off, swallowing and letting her eyes shift around the room. "Because it's a waste. I mean, you _should _get rid of it, but you shouldn't actually throw it away. Lots of people can't afford clothes. Cats, either. Lord Tubbington would _kill _for some new shirts. Okay? I'll bring these back to him."

Quinn's lips screw up in a skeptical scowl, but she eventually gives up on trying to analyze somebody who is so completely clueless. She rolls her eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh. "Whatever," she says, throwing her hands up. "I don't care what you do with it, just… Please get rid of it."

"Okay," is all Brittany responds with, and Quinn doesn't wait around to see her leave with Puck's things. She wants them gone, but that doesn't mean that she has to _watch _the box vanish from her life. She turns and trudges back upstairs to her room. Upon walking in, she realizes how _empty _it looks without his things. She never realized how much he was a part of her until now. It's painful, and she feels herself wanting to cry. She toughens up, though, because she's angry. The emptiness is just an excuse to redecorate.

Downstairs, Brittany is still standing in the kitchen with the box in hand. She's waiting until it sounds like Quinn has settled down to make any movement. When she's pretty sure that it's safe, she turns and walks into her bedroom with the box. She sets it down on the floor, retrieves a sharpie from her desk, and writes _NOAH _over Quinn's _Fuck Face_ label. Then, she crawls to her bed, dragging the box with her, and lifts her comforter.

"Lord Tubbington, are you doing drugs under here?" she gasps at her cat, who only meows in response. She rolls her eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh. "We'll talk about this later, but you need to move." Her tiny hands push against Lord Tubbington's oversized, meaty body, and he hisses at her before scurrying out from under the bed. She replaces him with the box, sliding it under her bed and folding her blanket over again.

* * *

Noah's turned into the angry drunk. For the past three days, actually, he's been wandering around his apartment and basically terrorizing Finn. Seriously, all he does is drink alcohol, spoke the occasional blunt and scream at Finn over _everything. _Most of the time, he screams about Quinn. Finn understands, so he's taking it all in stride.

Today, Puck's throwing Quinn's shit in a heap in the middle of his floor. It's kind of hard to aim correctly through the alcohol-induced fog in his brain, but he manages to get everything in the same general area. There's the blanket that she knit for him, a bottle of her perfume, countless pictures of the two of them, some of her panties, a couple of her T-shirts, her toothbrush and her hairspray. He can't _wait _to see it all go.

No, really, he can't wait. So he whips out a match and crouches down next to the heap of Quinn Fabray, lighting a flame and bringing his hand closer to the fabric of her blanket. If that catches fire, so will the rest of her things. If he was sober, he definitely wouldn't be doing something so fucking _stupid, _but… he's not sober. _And_ he's pissed.

"Dude, what the fuck are you _doing?" _Finn screams from behind, shoving into Puck and grabbing the match from him. He blows out the flame and shakes it out, tossing the match into a nearby trash bin. "You're fucking insane, man. You could've burned down the fucking apartment building."

"I don't care," Puck slurs. His hands come up to grip Finn's shirt, but the drunkenness has weakened his grip to match that of a baby's. "I hate her. I hate her. I hate her."

Finn's nose is scrunched up, because Puck smells like feet and alcohol. He frowns at Puck and grips his shoulders, shaking slightly. "Listen, dude. You have to stop this. She's just a _girl, _okay? And it sucks. The breakup sucks, I know. But you have to pull yourself together. This is not the way you should be handling yourself. Go take a fucking shower, eat human food, lay off the alcohol and stop throwing yourself a pity party. It happened, and now it's time to move on."

Noah looks completely clueless. Finn's talking much too fast for him to actually _understand _any of it, and staying upright is taking a lot of effort right now. When Finn's little speech is finished, Puck's ears ring for a few seconds before the world around him stars to blur. He sees patches of black and feels his head grow heavier. In the next second, he's collapsing into Finn.

"Shit!" is the last thing he hears before slipping into a blackout.

Finn is a miracle worker, because Puck wakes up on the couch about five hours later. Finn's watching football in the chair next to him, and Puck is pretty sure his head is about to explode. He wants to scream at Finn for playing the TV so loudly, but the dude just dragged his drunken ass to the couch. Instead, he grumbles a few curse words under his breath. Upon hearing him wake, Finn looks over and frowns at Puck.

"Sorry about that, dude" Puck apologizes, but he's not 100% sure what he's apologizing for. He doesn't actually remember trying to set fire to the apartment.

Finn's face doesn't soften, and Puck realizes that he's actually seen him look _this _angry before. "Whatever. Pull your shit together, man."

Puck knows that Finn's right. He's a hot mess. He wonders, though, how he's supposed to "pull his shit together" without Quinn in his life.

He's never depended on another person for happiness this way.

He hates her for making him like this.


	6. Everything Has Changed

**Author's Note: I'm sorry that I didn't publish a chapter yesterday! The end of the semester is quickly approaching, so if the chapters are spaced out until then I'm really sorry! I love nothing more than I love to write, so I'll always try to get a Chapter up before bed. Sometimes, I might not be able to, though. Hope you enjoy this one! THIS CHAPTER IS SLIGHTLY SHAFD-ESQUE—One aspect of the chapter is not my original idea (If you haven't read SHAFD, go do that now). It's also from Quinn's perspective only, because I have a paper to write. Apologies! Will try to get another chapter up soon! **

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_All my walls stood tall painted blue_

_But I'll take them down, take them down_

_And open up the door for you_

_And all I feel in my stomach is butterflies_

_The beautiful kind, making up for lost time_

_Taking flight, making me feel like_

_I just want to know you better, know you better, know you better now_

_I just want to know you, know you, know you_

'_Cause all I know is we said, 'Hello'_

_And your eyes look like coming home_

_All I know is a simple name _

_And everything has changed_

* * *

"You look beautiful," he says in a voice so dark and smooth that makes Quinn almost swallow her tongue. He doesn't even say hello first, because his expression is one of a boy who's just opened the greatest Christmas present. Quinn feels goose bumps rise on her skin, because nobody's ever looked at her this way.

"Thanks," she squeaks in response. She's so shy around him. Right now, they're lingering on her front step. He's just picked her up for their date, dressed in dark wash jeans a black T-shirt that clings so deliciously to his toned chest. The quiet becomes awkward, so Quinn clears her throat and grabs Puck's hand. It's a bold move, but his gaze is making her brave. They talk silently to his car, hand-in-hand.

Once they're in his car, Quinn feels like it's safe to break the silence. "Where are we going?" she asks, curiously gazing out the window because she doesn't recognize the places he's driving by.

"I can't tell you," he responds immediately, and Quinn looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"How come?"

"Because I'm trying to be romantic."

She chuckles and gazes out at the flashes of scenery. "So you're kidnapping me."

Puck snorts and removes one hand from the steering wheel to playfully shove Quinn's arm. "Shut up," he chuckles. "You're going to ruin it."

"Fine," she smiles over at him and purses her lips, trying not to focus on his perfect profile, because she might pass out if she stares at him for long enough.

They drive quietly for a long time. Puck ends up switching on his iPod. Maybe the silence is making him feel awkward too. He hums along to Phil Collins, singing along in a low raspy voice during his favorite lines. Quinn can tell that they're his favorites, because his eyes get a little brighter when he's singing them. She chirps along to what she knows of Phil Collin's music; he looks over and smiles when she does.

"There's no more skyscrapers," Quinn wonders out loud when she realizes that the city's lights are slowly disappearing behind them and the road ahead is becoming slightly rural.

"We're almost there," he responds.

Quinn notes that it looks like they're climbing a mountain just before they arrive. Puck's car rolls into a deserted, grassy lot and Quinn's afraid that he's about to drive off a cliff when the engine is stopped. She looks out at the entire city of New York from a bird's eye view, a map of tiny lights that are rainbow colors. It's beautiful, and there's only woods behind them.

"This is gorgeous," she breathes after a few long seconds of admiration.

"Yeah," Noah agrees, nodding his head. "I come here a lot, because sometimes I can't stand the city."

"How come I'm wearing this dress?" Quinn asks, remembering the way she hated it not seven days ago. Now, it's her favorite article of clothing. She thinks about _sleeping _in it (Just kidding…. Kind of).

"Because we're slow dancing," he says matter-of-factly, grinning over at her.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly confused. "Excuse me…?  
"That's all I wanted to do at the party," he explains, and she feels her chest tighten again. "I wanted to dance with you, and there was no room. So… we're slow dancing." He reaches in the center console of the truck and pulls out a CD that looks like, maybe, it was burned from someone's computer. "To _this_ song."

He rolls the truck windows down and fumbles to remove the disc from its plastic, but eventually manages to get it into the player and over the speakers. A few seconds later, _his _voice fills the truck. He's singing his acoustic version of _Sparks Fly _from the other night.

"This is on our demo," he says over the sound of his gorgeous voice. "The manager that Finn hired listened to us rehearse this for the party and insisted that it went on our demo. It reminds me of you, though."

Puck doesn't wait for Quinn to say anything (which she is thankful for, because she is too stunned by his perfection to spit words out) before getting out to circle around to her side. He opens her door and extends a hand for her, the other hand tucked behind his back as if he's _Prince Charming. _He has the shyest smile on his face. Quinn could die.

"I don't usually dance," she says nervously, but takes his hand and gracefully steps out of his truck.

"Me neither," is all he says before pulling her in. One hand is resting perfectly on the small of her back, the other's fingers are tangled with hers, and they're stepping together in a random circle. It doesn't matter that they don't know how to dance, because their bodies are close and that's all that matters.

_Get me with those hazel eyes_

_Baby, as the lights go down_

_Give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around_

He sings these words along to the recording, smiling when she bites her lip nervously. Her forehead is pressed to his and she's trying not to be distracted by the flavor of his breath. He's looking at her lips, then at her eyes, then back to her lips. She's floating. The whole time, she is floating.

They dance to the song, on repeat, five times. Neither of them says a word, because their eyes are saying enough. When the song ends for the fifth time, he pulls away slightly and she frowns at the newfound distance between their bodies.

"I want you to eat the food that I brought," he says, his voice a little darker now. She notices the way his eyes are half-lidded and wonders if he's using as much self control as she is right now. He lets her go completely and unlocks the bed of his truck, letting it fall open for easier access. The truck's bed looks like a nest, covered in fluffy blankets with a picnic basket in the middle.

She grins at the heap of blankets, but isn't completely shocked. At this point, he's proven to be incredibly sweet and romantic, so this is like icing on the cake. He helps her climb into the truck bed and she settles down in one corner, gathering a blanket in her lap to keep warm. He settles opposite her, and their legs get slightly tangled.

"Okay, so… I brought cookies," he says nervously, opening the picnic basket and fishing around for a Tupperware. He snaps the lid off and pulls out a frosted sugar cookie that's shaped like a music note. "In honor of the first time I saw you in that dress," he toasts, handing her the cookie. She smiles before taking a bite.

"You're romantic," she says quietly after a while of just looking at each other and eating cookies.

"Don't tell anyone," he says. "I'm supposed to be a badass."

"Oh?" she raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Yeah. Have a reputation to uphold."

She giggles. "Fine. Our secret."

"Ours," he agrees, his eyes linger on hers, and they gaze at each other for a few seconds like the world's fate depends on their eye contact.

Because they both know that they're sharing a lot more than a secret.


	7. I Almost Do

**Author's Note: I wish I could post more often. :( Sorry guys! Hope you enjoy this one! Sorry it's so short!  
**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

* * *

_We've made quite a mess, babe_

_It's probably better off this way_

_And I confess, baby_

_In my dreams you're touching my face _

_And asking me if I want to try again with you_

_And I almost do_

_And I just want to tell you_

_It takes everything in me not to call you_

_And I wish I could run to you_

_And I hope you know that _

_Every time I don't,_

_I almost do_

* * *

Somehow, they found each other again. Not the people they were towards the end—they found the happier versions of themselves. The versions that fell in love with each other. He's standing with her in a room that seems empty but, really, is filled with immeasurable amounts of love and healing. They've fixed themselves, and they're ready to fix each other. They're ready to try again, and his strong fingers are leaving trails of goose bumps on her face, which is twisted into a nervous expression. The last time he made her this nervous was on their first date and, right now, she's wearing the same dress. He's so close that she can taste his breath. He tastes like original Chapstick, coffee and _Noah. _His cologne is filling her with memories of the way they used to be, and she's not afraid to lose those memories anymore, because he's come back to her. His arms are wrapped around her and they feel so much like home. She's overwhelmed with relief, because she doesn't have to lose him after all.

The edges of the room are too bright. It looks like the Sun is right behind Noah—he's too washed out. Where are they anyway? She doesn't remember how she got here… Her peripheral vision starts to blur, and black splotches start to eat away at everything she sees. He lets go—her home lets go of her—and she suddenly feels so much colder and a lot tinier.

And then she wakes up.

* * *

Noah is tired of losing sleep. Since the breakup, he's done nothing but toss and turn at night.

Quinn used to read him chapters from her favorite books when he was restless this way, which wasn't often with her around. They were his favorite hours—3 or 4 A.M., when she'd feel his tossing and wake up on command. Because they operated on the same wavelength. She'd blink her perfect hazel eyes open, roll over and into his body and let him hold her for a few minutes. Then, she'd comfort Noah with soft kisses on his chest, neck, cheek, eyelid, lips. Because she knew that this restlessness wasn't a simple case of insomnia. This restlessness had a lot to do with Noah's past, which haunted him at night and made it impossible to feel safe. But those kisses… Those kisses made is all okay somehow. After a while, she'd push up to sit Indian style next to him and read from a book of poetry. He never appreciated poetry until her sweet bell voice made him realize how lovely words are. She always looked tired during these times, with perfect bedhead and rustled pajamas. Her voice was scratchy and soft. He can still hear it now. She'd read until he was fast asleep, snoring with his head in her lap. That's when she'd shimmy carefully to lie down next to him. He'd grumble wordlessly in his sleep and pull her close like his favorite teddy bear, and that's where she'd stay all night.

Now, nights without Quinn are pure torture. He does a great job of repressing his real feelings during the day, offering up his best _I don't give a fuck _smirk and telling everybody that he's moved on. He doesn't miss Quinn anymore. He's over it—it was a messy breakup, but now he's fine. When the nighttime rolls in though, and he has nobody to lie to but himself, the truth is too strong to defeat. He's stuck laying in a dark, quiet room, left alone to sit and _think. _He has no choice but to think about how much he misses her. It's an enormous pressure that sits on his chest and makes it impossible to breathe. He'd do anything to feel her again.

Nighttime is when he feels so, so sorry. It's always there—the regret—but nighttime is the worst. He wishes that he could find words eloquent and beautiful and _honest _enough to get her back. Now and then, he'll stare at his phone and give serious consideration to calling her. He could call her and _try. _Because you chase after the one that you love. Because you chase after the one thing that's ever made you feel so alive and at home. Because two puzzle pieces should _always _fit together, no matter how messy and broken the rest of the puzzle is. Because, for a split second every night, he believes that he can make it better.

Now and then, he almost calls her.

He _almost_ does.


	8. Fearless

**Author's Note: It's 12:38 Midnight here, but I'm trying to get another chapter up before bed because I'm not sure how much writing I'll be able to do in the next couple of days. Sorry if it seems rushed—I liked the idea in my head so I'm trying to take my time but I am sleepy! I am pretty sure that Londowntown, NYC is **_**not **_**a real place but, God, I wish it was!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_I don't know how it gets better than this _

_You take my hand and drag me headfirst_

_Fearless_

_And I don't know why_

_But with you I'd dance in a storm in my best dress_

_Fearless_

_Well you stood there with me in the doorway _

_My hands shake_

_I'm not usually this way_

_But you pull me in and I'm a little more brave_

_It's the first kiss, it's flawless, really something_

_It's fearless_

* * *

"Hello?" His voice sounds groggy, like she's just woken him. She immediately blushes and scolded herself.

"Sorry!" she squeaks into her phone's mic with a guilty frown. "Did I wake you?"

There's a second of silence, and then Noah sounds more awake. "Quinn! Hi! Yeah, no… Don't, um… Don't worry about it. What is it, like one on the afternoon? I should be awake anyways."

Quinn smiles shyly. Why is she so shy if he's not even there to see her? "Okay…" is all she says, because his morning voice is _sexy _and she's wondering if he's one of those guys that only wears boxers to bed.

"So what's up…?" he asks after Quinn awkwardly trails off. She scolds herself again. God, why is she such an idiot?

"I was just thinking that we should probably go on a second date."

The line falls silent again and, God, it makes her so nervous until she hears a flirty chuckle on the other end. "Probably," he says back seriously.

She grins. "Well, I have something planned, so get out of bed and get dressed, because I'll be over in a half hour."

She hangs up before he can answer and gives herself a mental pat on the back for her newfound boldness. She wonders idly where this fearlessness came from, but she's pretty sure it has a lot to do with that damn _dress. _Before leaving, she checks the mirror because—hello—Noah Puckerman looks like a God.

She's dressed in a mustard yellow sleeveless button-down, tucked into a high-waisted black skirt with giant buttons and bright red flats with lipstick to match. Her hair is in a high pony, with some tendrils messily curled to fall and frame her face. Lately, she's been pleased with her appearance. She hopes, still, that Noah will like her outfit.

Another bold move: deciding to take her car instead of catching a cab. She kind of hates herself for making this decision, but she's somehow made it safely to his apartment building. She parks along the curb and shoots him a text to let him know that she's arrived, then turns the radio to some Billie Holiday. Noah bounds down the stairs about thirty seconds later, and Quinn almost chokes. She wonders if she'll ever get used to looking at him for the first time over again. His T-shirt has a washed-out picture of a bird on it, and it fits his body so perfectly that Quinn could die. She waves casually, though, because she needs to learn how to _not _look obsessed.

"Hey," he grunts while gracefully plopping into the passenger seat. He's looking over at Quinn and smirks, clenching his jaw. She notices that it looks like he's holding something back, but choses to ignore it.

"Hi," she responds weakly, because that jaw is too damn distracting. She turns her blinker on and prepares to head into traffic, leaning to glance over her shoulder before jerking onto the road. "I'm really sorry about my driving," she apologizes, nervously gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Carrying such precious cargo is making her concentration falter. "It's all part of the experience." She adds… Like that's supposed to make him feel better.

"Where exactly are you taking me, Miss Fabray?" he asks, an eyebrow raised and one hand on the _oh shit _handle above his head.

"Surprise," she says, smashing on the breaks again to avoid rear-ending another car. "Sorry! … It's a surprise."

"Is it a surprise visit to the _hospital?"_ Puck's laughing, so she feels a little better, but it doesn't make her driving any less embarrassing.

Quinn giggles in return and decides against using a free hand to playfully shove him. Her driving is terrible enough with _both_ hands on the wheel. "Just shut up and enjoy your surprise."

Fourty five minutes, and five near-accidents later, Quinn parks along the curb of a street Noah's obviously never seen before. He's looking very puzzled, so she explains. "This is a street called _Londontown,_"she starts. "It's, apparently, bringing a small London town to New York City…. Now, I don't know how realistic it is, because I've never _really _been to London, but I've always wanted to go. I come here a lot and just…. _Pretend. _So, Noah Puckerman, you and I are spending the day in London.

Puck is gazing out the window, and Quinn is pretty sure she remembers the moment he's experiencing right now. Londontown, NYC is a brown brick road lined with tiny, hole-in-the wall shops. It looks like the set of a movie set in London, and it may be dramatized for effect, but Quinn loves it. It feels magical, because she steps onto this street and forgets that she is in a huge city.

"One more thing," she adds in an English accent. "We're only allowed to speak in these accents. _No excuses_."

"You are so weird," he mumbles, and Quinn shoves his arm with a chuckle.

"_Accent!" _she chides.

"Ow!," he whines, grabbing his arm where she shoved him. "That fucking hurt," he growls, complete with an English accent and a big, cheesy grin. She could fall in love with that smile if it stayed in her life for long enough.

"Right, then," she says, because she's pretty sure English people use that as a Segway. "First thing's first: photobooth! There's one in that Novelty shop over there." Her arm extends to point to said shop before she drops it to grab Noah's hand. Holding his hand feels natural, like they were _made _to fit together in more ways than one—right down to the crooks of their fingers. Like puzzle pieces. She pulls him towards the shop until he matches her pace and they walk side-by-side, hand-in-hand, along the sidewalk. He's absentmindedly brushing his thumb along the back of her hand, and she feels every single stroke like it's the first time she's discovered her sense of feeling.

They slip into the store and smile at how cluttered it is. The owner is an old man with rustled, grey hair and a weathered face. They nod their heads to say hello and find the photo booth in the store's back corner. Quinn squeals with delight, and they waste $9 on three different strips of photos. They become closer, and much more intimate-looking, as the photo strips progress. In one square, they look like they're about to kiss. In the one after that, though, Quinn's kissing Noah _on the cheek._ He looks pissed in the last one, and she's laughing.

"What now, my dear?" Noah asks like a true gentleman, helping Quinn out of the photo booth. She takes his hand again and grins up at him, gripping their new pictures.

"Tea time!" she exclaims. "But first… We need to buy big, fancy hats from this store owner. He's old and tired. I want to give him some business… And they wear big hats in London." She hands Puck the photos to fish around in her purse for her wallet. When she pulls it out, he's staring at her with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile. "What?" she asks.

His lips curl up into a slightly bigger smile. "Nothing. You're just really cute," he explains, and she blushes.

"Thanks," she says, tucking some hair behind her ear.

She buys a huge, flamboyant hat for herself, complete with ridiculous feathers and pearls as decoration, and a sophisticated fedora for Puck. He tosses it in the air before placing it on his head, and Quinn wonders if he's just naturally suave.

They find a seriously _tiny _café a few stores down. It has five tables, and it smells like coffee and wood. Quinn's eyes light up upon stepping in, because she _loves _tiny cafés. Their table is in the shop's window, and they sit across from each other while guessing the names of everybody that walks by. Both of them are wearing their ridiculous hats like it's totally _not_ a big deal. They sample every kind of tea at the café. Noah is brave enough to try the espresso, Quinn isn't. She catches him staring at her and, every time, she pretends not to notice.

His perfection is, sometimes, so intimidating.

She's trying so hard not to get caught up.

* * *

Puck isn't usually the type of guy who does this kind of romantic shit, but it's kind of hard to say no to those eyes. So, he's spending the day in London with the world's most perfect girl. If you tell _anyone _how romantic it is, though, he'll kick your ass.

"What's next?" he asks, watching the way she's counting her money to make sure she leaves enough to tip the barista. She's counted on her fingers three times now, looking up every time and silently mouthing each number she counts. It's these little things that Puck keeps noticing about her. She's impossibly cute and painfully beautiful all at once. He constantly catches himself getting caught up. _Just breathe, _he'll repeat to himself. _She's just a girl. _Even though he knows this is entirely untrue. Quinn Fabray is anything but "_just _a girl."

"Bookstore," she responds simply, finally setting her money on the table and standing to grab Puck's hand and pull him up. He's quickly learned to lace his fingers with hers and pull her a little closer, because the crooks of their arms _also _fit perfectly together. They stroll down the Londontown sidewalk towards the bookstore, and Quinn lets go when they step inside. He's not happy about the lack of physical contact, but he forgets about that when he notices the way her eyes have lit up.

The bookstore smells like musty paper, the wooden floors creak with every human movement, and the floor-too-ceiling shelves are crammed and overflowing with books. Quinn looks like she's just stepped into heaven. Her perfectly shaped lips hang open, and she's gazing up to the highest shelves.

"God, I love books," she breathes, twirling absentmindedly. Puck is pretty sure that look on her face could give him diabetes if he looks at it for too long.

This is the _realest _girl he's ever met.

They wander through the bookstore, getting lost in the endless aisles of books. Even the back wall is _covered _with stories_. _Sometimes they get separated and check out books in different sections, but they always meet up again in another aisle. In one aisle, they pick one book from every shelf and read the first chapter aloud. In the next aisle—full of cookbooks—they take pictures, with their phones, of recipes they want to try together. The next aisle is full of Shakespearean plays, and they re-enact a scene from _Much Ado About Nothing _with the best iambic pentameter they can muster up. Both of them end up cracking up, and Puck can't help noticing the way she tosses her head back when she laughs, or the way she hugs herself like she's actually going to split in half. She's a beautiful laugher—how the _hell _does she do that? He blinks away the wonder and they get separated again.

When he finds her again, she's sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the shelves towards the back of the store with her nose buried in _Jane Eyre. _She doesn't notice him, so he takes the opportunity to study her. Her legs are drawn up to her chest, and she's tapping the binding of the book as she reads. Puck can almost tell when she's reading parts that are happy or sad, because her eyes light up and narrow in a regular pattern. He can look into those eyes and see _everything. _That should scare him, but it doesn't. She's twirling some of her perfect honey-colored hair around a long, slender finger. God, look at her. She's perfect. To Noah, she is perfection personified.

He's known a lot of girls who look pretty, but not many of them are beautiful _people. _Quinn freaking Fabray is different—there's a lot to her. She has, Noah suspects, a lot of different sides. He wants to discover all of them, and that's kind of terrifying. He's never wanted to _know _somebody else so much, but there's a sense of urgency. Like he just _has _to discover all of her. He wants to know more. He wans to feel her, because she feels like home. He wants to taste her. Oh, he wants to taste her.

And, so, his mind is made up. He won't wait any longer to taste her. He puffs up slightly, snapping out of his reverie to _finally _make a move and meet Quinn at the end of the aisle where she's sitting. He takes the book from her hand, and she looks up at him with a pouty lip.

"Why don't you ask me what's next on our date?" he asks, extending an arm to help her up.

She takes his hand and pulls to stand, not letting go once she's upright. "You're forgetting who took _who, _Egghead," she chuckles. They're surrounded by nothing but books, at the very back of the bookstore where nobody else has wandered.

"Just ask me," he orders, pulling her in. His hands are wrapped firmly around her tiny waist, and their hips press together in the most delicious way. Her hand immediately comes up to grip his shirt where it clings to his chest, and she's looking at him with wide eyes and a shy smile. He realizes that this is the first time he's ever held her this way. Like he's _hers. _It feels right—that's the other thing he realizes.

"Fine," she sighs, rolling those perfect eyes. "What's next?"

"This," he says immediately, bringing his hands up to cup her face. He's being gentle, despite the ticking time bomb between them. His thumbs brush along her cheeks, and he's taking a second to study her up-close, drink in her features, and let this moment linger. She's inching closer to him, and now he can smell her watermelon lipgloss. His strong hands snake around to the nape of her neck and grip her hair loosely, pulling her so that their lips finally crash into each other. It's a slow, sweet, nervous, _perfect _first kiss, and they take turns with control. He explores with his lips, she memorizes his mouth with her tongue.

Noah's in a daze when they finally pull away from each other. He's struggling to find _any _words to describe their kiss.

Flawless.

* * *

**Let me know if you're enjoying- Feedback is as amazing as kissing Mark Salling in a London bookstore ;) **


	9. You're Not Sorry

**Author's Note: Finals Week(s) is (are) almost over! I can see the light! Here's a chapter that I'm writing in between exams. Hope you enjoy! Leave feedback!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_You had me crying for you, honey_

_And it never would've gone away_

_You used to shine so bright but I watched all of it fad_

_So you don't have to call anymore_

_I won't pick up the phone_

_This is the last straw_

_There's nothing left to beg for_

_You can tell me that you're sorry_

_But I don't believe you, baby, like I did before_

_You're not sorry_

* * *

The fact that he hasn't called yet comes, Quinn will admit, as a slight shock. They're over—this is certain—but he should be chasing her. She had this fantasy of him chasing after for her after the breakup, begging for her to come back and trying to fix them, but since she left that day he hasn't reached out. She wants to be relieved, because she'd only hang up on him, but it stings. He's not fighting the way she's always dreamed. She's not worth his fighting for. She's not worth anything to him.

Quinn has, for all intents and purposes, moved on. That's how it appears to Brittany and Santana, anyway—she's doing much better since the initial ending of things. It's getting easier to get up and carry on with life. Work is… work. It's never really been easier but, now that Quinn is over Puck, going to the office isn't as treacherous. She's also dressing like a normal person now, as opposed to the sweats and bed head she'd been rocking for weeks after the breakup. She's taking regular showers again and eating a semi-normal diet (she's always had a small appetite anyway, but at least meals are regular now). And she never, ever things about Noah.

Ever.

She doesn't think about Noah when her bed feels cold and empty at night and all she wants is his embrace.

She doesn't think about Noah when she stops by the bookstore in Londontown.

She doesn't think about Noah when Phil Collins comes up on her shuffled iPod.

She doesn't think about him when her chest feels hollow, like her heart is no longer there, like it's no longer beating for anything or any_one. _

So maybe she _does _think about him, but she tries not to.

Honestly, Quinn has started to go through the motions. She's carrying on with her days and functioning normally, because that's what people are expected to do when a certain amount of time passes after a breakup. She's not carrying on because she's _over _him, she's carrying on because she finally feels numb. Quinn has gotten used to the pain of missing Puck, but it's finally become a constant, dull ache instead of a crippling weight on her chest. The pain will always be there, but she's used to it and she's a pro at pretending to be happy. As long as she puts on a happy face, nobody will suspect the true depression she's fallen into. Everybody will leave her alone—Even though there's one person that she wishes _wouldn't _leave her alone. But he hasn't called.

She's sitting cross-legged in bed with a mug of chai and a book. Reading has become her favorite means of escape lately. She's read this book at least five times, but it never gets old. It's a hard-earned lazy day, because work has been insane for the past week.

Her phone rings.

She thinks it's her Mom.

It's not.

* * *

Puck know she's going to hang up, if she even answers at all. It's discouraging to know this, but he's calling her anyway. He doesn't know why—they're over. She's made that abundantly clear.

The phone rings five times and then cuts to her answering machine.

"It's Quinn," he hears in his ear, and she starts to giggle. Puck hears his own laughter in the background, and he remembers this day. He was tickling her while she tried to record her voicemail message. She giggles for a few seconds before kicking him and finishing her message. "I'm not here—you know what to do!" More giggling, and then the phone beeps. Puck is too shocked by the sound of her voice to realize that it's his turn to leave a message. Why didn't she change her voicemail? He hasn't heard her voice since the breakup. It's been almost two months, and he's just realizing how much he's missed that _sound. _Her giggling. He hangs up without leaving a message and put his phone down.

Puck tries to ignore his phone for all of three minutes before picking it up and calling again. He repeats this process three times— Call, hang up. Call, hang up. Call, hang up.

He should be getting the message loud and clear—she's not interested in talking. And why would she be? He fucked up. He can't stay away, though. Something about today is giving him hope. Hope that should already be long gone.

He picks his phone up for the fifth time and dials her number. By the third ring, he's expecting the answering machine, so he pulls the phone away and gets ready to give up for the fifth time.

"Stop calling me," he hears. His eyes go wide and he pulls the phone away to make sure it's real.

"Quinn?" he asks nervously, like it would be somebody else.

"I said _stop _calling me," she repeats.

Noah frowns. "Hello to you, too."

She scoffs. "You're teaching me about _manners _right now, Puckerman? Fuck off."

"Wait, no," he calls out. He's panicking—she can't hang up on him right now. He needs to hear her voice, even if she's saying awful things. At least it's her voice, and at least she's saying those awful things to him. At least they're talking. He has hope. "Please talk to me."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Fine, then listen to me," he begs.

"No."

His eyes sting with tears. God, Noah Puckerman is _not _a crier. "Please, baby."

"_Don't _call me that," she snaps, and he can practically _feel _her anger through the phone. She used to love being his baby. He used to call her that and see a huge grin in return. This sucks.

"I miss you," he begins, because begging her to listen clearly won't get him anywhere. If he just starts talking and doesn't stop, maybe she'll listen to everything _and then _hang up. Even if she doesn't say anything back, at least she can hear what's on his heart. "I mean, I miss everything about you. And I tried to get over you, because you made it really clear that you want nothing to do with me. For a while, I just drank about it, and then Finn helped me move all your stuff. I thought getting rid of it would make me forget that you're you and that you're perfect and that you used to be _mine, _but it didn't. It's actually making me miss you more. I miss the way you smell, you know. Your perfume is still here, and I spray it on my pillow because it helps me pretend that I'm holding you at night. That's another thing I miss—holding you. You fit so perfectly in my arms, and I'm so scared that nobody else will feel so right. And I miss your laugh, baby. I miss your eyes, and your hair, and your hands in mine. I miss your books and your singing and the way you used to look at me. God, I miss the way you looked at me. And, no matter how much you hate me, I'll always be yours. Always. And I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry about fucking this up. We were so perfect, and I ruined everything. I've just realized how badly I need you, and I want you every day… and I'm so sorry." He's breathing heavily now, his chest heaving, because that's a lot to spill in one breath. The line is silent, and he's sure that she hung up. "…..Hello? Quinn?"

"I don't want you calling me anymore," she says coldly after a few seconds of silence. She sounds slightly stunned. "I mean it, Puck. No more. I don't believe you anymore. You're an expert at saying sorry, and I always believed you. When things got bad between us, it just took one apology from you for me to fall for it all over again. You're not sorry, Puck. You're lonely. And I'm not doing this anymore. Lose this number."

And then she hangs up.

It feels like a punch in the gut.

Just like that, his hope is gone.


	10. Crazier

**Author's Note: Here's some fluff for you! Will try to write another chapter today!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_I watched from a distance as you made life your own_

_Every sky was your own kind of blue_

_And I wanted to know how that would feel_

_And you made it so real_

_You showed me something that I couldn't see_

_Opened my eyes and you made me believe_

_You lift my feet off the ground and spin me around_

_You make me crazier, crazier_

_Feels like I'm falling_

_And I am lost in your eyes_

_You make me crazier_

_Crazier_

_Crazier_

* * *

Part of her always wants to quit work to be an artist. She loves working at Rolling Stone, which has offered her a permanent position since the _Courage 2.0 _article, but nothing makes her lose herself quite like painting. It's when she's painting that Quinn feels free of all inhibition. She can paint every feeling she has. She can take her sadness, put it on a canvas and say _This is what it is. This is my sadness. _It's the greatest.

Today is one of those days. It's a Saturday, and she should be writing an article, but she's painting instead. There's no trace of sadness on her canvas—the colors are bright and whimsical. That's exactly how she's been feeling lately. Ever since Puck waltzed into her life and made it beautiful again. For the past few months before he showed up, there was a void in Quinn's life that she didn't quite recognize until he filled it. Being around him made her _feel _again.

When Quinn paints, she wears a gigantic, oversized button-down shirt and leggings. Some people would call this shirt crappy or beat up, because it's covered in paint splotches, but it's Quinn's favorite shirt. Her hair is thrown up in an unruly messy bun, and there's a few spots where she's accidentally painted her head. She'll wash it off with shampoo later. There's some green and pink splotches on her face, and she keeps making it worse by wiping her runny nose with the sleeve of her shirt.

She hears a knock at the door and calls out, "Brit! Can you get it? My hands are covered in paint!"

"Lord Tubbington and I are in the middle of doing Insanity!" she hears from downstairs. She rolls her eyes.

"Brittany, please! Whoever's at the door is waiting for somebody!"

She hears Brittany sigh and smiles to herself. "Yeah, sure… I'll get it…" she mumbles, and Quinn can hear her walk to the door and open up. "Hi…?" she greets curiously. Quinn furrows her brow, because she wonders who it is, but keeps painting.

"Sup," a handsome voice says below, and Quinn feels herself die. No. Puck cannot be here right now. They don't have plans, do they? She doesn't remember making plans with him, and she looks like _shit. _They're not at the point in their relationship when he can see her like this yet. Shit. Shit Shit.

"Who are you?" Brittany asks bluntly, because she's never picked up on social cues or manners. "You're part of the Illuminati, aren't you? Everyone who has a Mohawk is part of the Illuminati."

"What the fuck is the Illuminati?" Noah asks, and Quinn _would _laugh if she wasn't totally panicked right now.

Brittany clicks her tongue, and Quinn can practically _see_ her assessing Noah. "Good move. Making me think you have no clue what I'm talking about…. I'm onto you."

Noah lets out a frustrated sigh. "I'm not…. Whatever. I'm here to see Quinn. Is she here?"

_Tell him No, _Quinn thinks to herself. _Please._

"Yeah, she's here…" Brittany says suspiciously, and Quinn immediately slams her eyes shut and scrunches up her nose. This is bad. This is really, really bad. "Are those flowers for her?"

Quinn's eyes widen. He brought flowers? She smiles to herself, but still wishes she looked better than this.

"Yeah. Can you tell me where she is?"

"Well, Mr. Illuminati Mohawk-Head, I don't really trust you. So I'm going to walk with you to make sure you don't try and convert her or kill her or something."

Quinn giggles to herself and hears Brittany's footsteps nearing the stairs. Noah's feet aren't moving yet, and Quinn is pretty sure that's because he's still stunned by Brittany's eccentric ways. After a few seconds, she hears Puck catch up with her and glances down at her paint-splotched shirt.

Brittany appears in the doorway with Noah following sheepishly behind. Quinn thinks that her friend's cluelessness must scare him, because he's keeping a safe distance.

"Quinnifer," Brittany chirps, and Quinn's already turned around and expecting them. "There's a guy with a mohawk here to see you. He brought flowers, but I think they might be roofied or something…. Wait, can you roofie roses?"

Quinn giggles nervously and shakes her head. "No, Brit, it's fine. This is my friend, Puck," she explains, looking over Brittany's shoulder to give an apologetic nod towards Puck.

"Okay, that's really confusing, because nobody names their baby _Puck…_" Brittany wonders out loud, and Quinn watches her give up thinking before muttering. "Whatever." She turns back to Puck and scolds, "I hope you know the government is always going to stop you guys from taking over the world." Puck is looking down at her with an extremely puzzled expression, and she shoots him daggers before sidestepping him to skip downstairs and finish Insanity with Lord Tubbington. Quinn watches her go with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, feeling uneasy because, now, she's alone with Puck.

This wouldn't be a problem if she looked better.

* * *

_Friend. _She said it.

_Friend._

Quinn just told her weird, annoying friend that he's her _friend. _He looks up at her when they're finally alone and doesn't try to hide the frown.

"That's Brittany…" Quinn explains nervously, rolling her paintbrush between her fingers. God, she's a painter. She's perfection in human form. "Sorry about her. She's…. different." Puck would laugh if he wasn't so caught up with the word _Friend._

"It's fine. I don't care about that," he snaps, sounding a little colder than he'd intended. He catches himself and softens his tone. "I'm your _friend_?"

Quinn looks confused. Her eyes dart around the room and her perfect mouth is hanging open. "I'm sorry…?" she asks, and Puck's heart almost stops because she's so fucking adorable.

"Your weird friend Brittany. You told her that I'm your _friend…_ Is that what this is?"

"Is that what _what _is?"

Puck chews on the inside of his cheek, because he's not used to feeling so naked and vulnerable. He doesn't care about girls, or relationships or _labels, _so conversations like this are so foreign. "Us," he mutters.

Quinn's mouth slams shut and she swallows. Oh… she's obviously uninterested. Puck feels stupid. He should've known it was too good to be true. He drops his head and lets out a sigh. "I hope not," she finally says after a few seconds, and Puck picks his head up to look at her with wide eyes. "I mean, I just didn't know if we were on the same page. I don't want to be your friend, Puck. I want to be _yours. _Period."

He closes the distance between them and grabs her, because he's never heard anything so promising or _perfect, _ever. One arm snakes around her waist and the other keeps a firm grip on her roses (there's a dozen of them). He's kissing her before either of them knows what's going on but, Jesus Christ, she tastes and feels and smells and _is _perfect. The kiss is needy and urgent, because not one minute ago he was sure he'd have to forget her.

When he pulls away, both of their chests are heaving, and he stares at her with half-lidded eyes for a second before awkwardly holding out the flowers for her. "I know roses are super cliché, but these are for you," he says.

She smiles _that _smile down at the roses and takes them with glittering eyes. "Is that why you came over?" she asked. Her voice was a little squeakier, and Puck wondered if that always happened when something romantic was happening.

"Yeah, I don't know…" he says nervously. God, he hates romance. He shrugs. "I know it's only been a couple of days, but I was thinking of you and I just… wanted to see you."

Quinn's grin is going to split her face in half—He's sure of it. "Thank you," she says after sticking her nose in the roses and sucking in a huge sniff. She pushes up on her toes to offer a much quicker, gentler kiss. He thinks she pulls away too soon but, then, no amount of time spent kissing her will ever be enough. "I'm sorry that I look like this. You caught me in the middle of a painting."

Puck looks at her like she's insane because, well, _look at her. _She wears crappy clothes like a million dollar gown. He's never seen anybody so perfect. "You look perfect," he responds in a dark voice, because seeing her in that oversized men's shirt is kind of a turn on. What? He's Noah Puckerman—he's _always _a little horny. Quinn blushes and looks at her feet. He can tell that she doesn't believe him. That's when he makes it his life's goal to make her feel beautiful.

"So… You're not dating anybody else?" she asks shakily, avoiding anything that has to do with her being pretty.

"No," Puck responds immediately. He's _not _dating anyone else, because can't see anybody but Quinn. Everywhere he goes, all he sees is Quinn. "I mean, we just signed a few backup singers, and one of them has a major crush on me, but can you blame her? Look at me…" he jokes, chuckling. He makes jokes when he's nervous. Conversations like this make him nervous. Thus: the jokes. Quinn doesn't look amused. Oops—Note to self: No jokes about backup singers with crushes. His smile immediately disappears and he's serious again, because that look on her face is killing him. "I'm not dating her. I'm not dating anybody but you. Because you're _Mine. _We've been over this."

Quinn perks up and smiles again. Thank God. "Okay," she chirps with a grin. "Yours."

They kiss again, and they don't stop for a long time.

It's official: They belong to each other.


	11. All Too Well

**Author's Note: I'm sorry that I only posted one chapter last night! Here is another one for you. :) **

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_Maybe we got lost in translation_

_Maybe I asked for too much_

_But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up_

_Running scared, I was there_

_I remember it all too well_

_You call me up again just to break me like a promise_

_So casually cruel in the name of being honest_

_I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here_

'_Cause I remember it all too well_

* * *

Apparently, the _Anger _stage comes in multiple waves.

After that phone call, Quinn can only see red. She's pissed that he ruined her streak—she was doing _just fine _without him, because she wasn't thinking about him. Leave it to him to call her up and remind her exactly what she was missing. She hates him for being able to say such sweet things, because they'll always make her want him over again, but she knows they're over. They _need _to be over.

Fuck him for calling her tonight.

Fuck him for always being on her brain.

Fuck him for making her such a _pathetic _person.

She needs to get out of this apartment. She's been cooped up in her bedroom every day when she's not at work. It's been the same routine since the break up: Lay in bed, work, come back home and lay in bed again. She's sick of it and, now that the _Anger _stage is back in full effect, she's going out.

She springs from bed and checks the mirror. Oh… changing into a nicer outfit might be a good first step. She slips out of her sweats and into tight skinny jeans that cling to every curve, and a neon yellow tank top. Her hair is unsalvageable, so she throws it up into a high pony.

Quinn's really angry, you know, so she doesn't really _think _about what she's doing. She barely remembers catching the cab, or the ride to the bar, which is why she's kind of surprised and confused when the driver turns to her and asks, "Are you going to get out of the cab….?" She jumps at the sound of his voice, because where the fuck did he come from?

"Yeah…" she mumbles, and steps out onto the sidewalk. Shit, it's cold. She should've worn a jacket.

"Quinn Fabray!" she hears, and turns to come face-to-face with a giant camera lens. It snaps and flashes in her eyes so that she's pretty sure she's gone blind. Paparazzi—Three of them. Oh, that's right—Noah is _famous. _And it's all because of Quinn's stupid article.

"How are you doing since the breakup?" One paparazzo has the balls to ask, and Quinn grinds her teeth together. Okay, going out tonight is already proving to be a terrible idea.

"Fuck off," she sneers before shoving past the paparazzi to squeeze into the bar. She makes a beeline to the bartender and slams her hand on the counter. "I need to get hammered," she snaps to the bartender. "So, just… shots of anything strong."

The bartender raises an eyebrow at her and chuckles. "Coming right up, miss," he says, sliding some _delicious _shot of alcohol onto the counter to her. "My name's Riley."

Quinn's head is still spinning, her throat burning, from the strength of that shot. She's pretty sure that alone is getting her drunk. "I'm Quinn," she mutters, licking her lips to savor the alcohol's flavor.

"I know who you are," he retorts with a smirk, and Quinn notes that he's kind-of handsome. His features are a bit muted, but he's cute. With sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and an eyebrow piercing, he's definitely… _not _ugly. _He's not Noah, _she thinks to herself, but tries to brush it away.

Quinn forces a giggle and nods her head with a raised eyebrow. "That's right," she chimes, nervously tapping the counter. "I forgot that I'm kind of famous by default… Ex-girlfriend of the hot mess drunken rock star." She looks sad now, and feels stupid for talking about Puck on the one night she's _not _supposed to. Her eyes are on her slender fingers, because she doesn't want to make eye contact with the cute bartender during this vulnerable moment.

"Well," Riley begins, and Quinn can feel his eyes on her. "_I _don't think that's all you are. And, for the record, what he did to you was terrible. If I had a girl like you…"

He trails off, and Quinn is internally wincing. That's what _really _sucks about this whole breakup: The whole world knows. Puck's career kind of took off fast and, soon, everybody was obsessed with his whole life. There was never escaping the rumors, which wasn't a problem until Quinn saw the pictures to prove them. The tabloids, and the world, knew they were broken up before _they_ did. Most of the time, she could escape paparazzi and people like Riley, who knew everything, because she only went straight to work and back. Nighttime was the worst, though. That's then photographers went on the prowl.

She sighed, feeling herself get thirsty for more alcohol. All this _Noah _talk had her wanting to be numb. "Thanks," she said curtly, sitting up straighter. "Can I have another shot of whatever that was?"

"You sure can, Miss More-than-famous-by-default-Fabray," he giggles before sliding her another shot.

She smiles her first real, genuine smile since the breakup because Riley is seriously cute, and so is his nickname for Quinn. She tosses back the shot and grimaces at the burning in her throat. She's feeling ballsy, and tired of Noah on her brain, so she reaches in her purse and whips out a sharpie.

"Well, Cute-Bartender-Riley," she says, leaning over the counter to grab his hand and pull it onto the counter. "Call me when I'm _not _getting drunk." She writes her number on his hand and then lets go, asking for another shot. Because she's going to need another shot to accept the fact that she is, in fact, moving on with somebody who isn't Noah.

Because, in that moment, she remembers the first time she and Noah met. The first time he asked her out. The first time they kissed… She remembers it all too well.

"Slut," she hears behind her, and she notices the smile on Riley's face fade away. She turns her head with a puzzled expression, only to come face-to-face with one Noah Puckerman.

* * *

Noah swore he'd stop drinking his anger, but here he is.

He doesn't remember getting to the bar, because he got drunk at home. After hanging up with Quinn, he sat in shock for a good ten minutes, then decided that he was too angry to be sober. He had one drink, then another, and another… Before he knew it, his head was swimming and the room was spinning and he couldn't feel a _thing. _Perfect.

He's not exactly sure why he needs to be at the bar if he's already drunk, but being drunk by yourself at home is beyond lame, and maybe there's a hot chick at the bar. He can fuck the shit out of her and pretend it's Quinn. He also doesn't remember the near thirty paparazzi gathered around the bar, or the blinding camera flashes. He'll regret this whole night when he sees it all in the tabloids tomorrow morning.

And now he's staring at Quinn Fabray, who he's just called a slut. If he was sober, he wouldn't even _dream _of calling her a name like that, but he's not sober. And Quinn Fabray knows better than anyone that Noah Puckerman is an angry drunk. He says things that he definitely doesn't mean and hurts people that he loves the most. Because he's a fuck up, you know. There is a small crowd gathered around the two of them, and the asshole bartender she's just given her number to. A few people have their camera phones out and they're snapping pictures, but Noah doesn't notice them. He only sees Quinn, unfortunately looking just as gorgeous as ever, and _another _guy. His chest is heaving, and his fists are clenched.  
"Why are you here?" Quinn asks, sounding slightly horrified. "Are you drunk already?"

"Why are you giving out your phone number?" he slurs angrily, his jaw clenching.

Quinn snickers and rolls her eyes, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. "Yeah, you're wrecked… I'm not having this discussion with you right now. Or ever, actually. We're _broken up, _Noah. I can give my number to whoever I want. I am not your _property._"

Noah's head is spinning for more than one reason, and the alcohol is only has a little bit to do with it. "So now you're going to just fuck whoever you want? Is that the plan?" he snaps, staring at her with glazed eyes.

"Don't make a scene," she begs through gritted teeth. "People are taking pictures."

"I don't give a _fuck _about cameras," he yells. His eyes wander to Riley, who is nervously watching the confrontation behind Quinn. "You're a slut," he repeats at Quinn again, his lips pressed into a tight line.

She swallows a lump in her throat and her eyes well up with tears, and the sober part of Noah hates himself. He _hates _seeing her cry. More than anything. "I can't do this right now," she croaks, turning to Riley. "I'm sorry," she apologizes before turning to shove past Puck and leave the bar.

Noah watches her go and sees a hundred camera flashes from inside the bar, closing his eyes to revel in just how much this situation sucks. Then, he turns back to Riley. The bartender is shaking his head disapprovingly, and Puck feels himself getting angry again. His eyes fall to Quinn's phone number, written on his hand, and then he stops thinking of anything but the color red.

He leaps forward and over the counter without another thought, stumbling because he's so _fucking _drunk.

And then he punches Riley—hard.

He is _so _going to regret this night.


	12. Jump Then Fall

**Author's Note: I just spent 8 hours editing a film for my Production class, so I am exhausted, but I wanted to get a chapter up tonight. I'm really sorry if this seems half-assed. Feedback is nice!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_I like the way your hair falls in your face_

_You got the keys to me_

_I love each freckle on your face_

_I've never been so wrapped up_

_Honey, I like the way you're everything I've ever wanted_

_I've had time to think it all over_

_And I all I have to say is come closer_

_Take a deep breath and jump _

_Then fall into me_

* * *

"Nail biting," Quinn breathes into the phone. She and Puck have been talking on the phone for an hour, ever since they've been awake. It's a Saturday morning, and they're both laying in bed pretending that they're next to each other. Because they've become _that _couple that can't stay away from each other—After two weeks of dating.

Puck lets out a tired, scratchy laugh and Quinn can't help the pulling in her chest. His laugh is the best sound she's ever heard. She imagines him, sleepy and slightly delirious, in bed and grins. "No," he chuckles. "Nail biting is not your worst habit. That is beyond cliché."

Quinn rolls her eyes and bites her lip, because she's impressed at his ability to detect her lies. "Okay, okay…" she trails off, taking a deep breath. "When I set my alarm for the morning, I stare at it for, like, fifteen minutes. And then, after I put it down, I'll check it again ten times before I can fall asleep. I'm afraid that it won't go off and I'll sleep through my whole day… I don't know, I'm psychotic."

"_I'd _say," he laughs.

"Shut up," she doesn't sound the least bit pissed.

"It's your turn to ask a question."

"What number are we on?"

"Doesn't matter."

Quinn furrows her brow. "The game is _called _Twenty Questions."

"I lost count. Ask a question or I'll hang up on you."

She rolls her eyes again and thinks for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling for ideas. "Biggest fear," she suggests after a few moments of thought.

"Ah," he sighs, and Quinn can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. "Spiders."

She purses her lips and shakes her head as if he can see her. "First of all," she begins. "That's totally girly. Second of all, I can _tell _that you're lying. Now who's being cliché?"

"Fuck you," he jokes, but Quinn can hear the hesitation in his voice. He's holding something back.

"Come on," she chirps, her eyes wide. "Tell me. I told you about Lucy Caboosey."

"Okay, okay…. Calm down, baby." Quinn can_not _believe that she's his baby. It's the best. He's quiet for a while, and Quinn's getting impatient. Whatever he's afraid of is, apparently, a big deal and she's dying to know. "_You _are what I'm most afraid of."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean… _This. _Being with you is terrifying. I mean, it's nice. It's perfect, actually. I'm just… I don't usually do relationships. I've never bothered. After my childhood and everything with my dad, I just…. I never really believed in anything _real. _Not until you, though. This is a big step for me. And I guess I'm just scared of you because you can break me so easily. All you have to do is decide that you don't want me anymore, and…. I don't even know what would happen."

Quinn stays quiet and lets Noah's confession play over in her mind a few times. He's a lot more broken than she'd guessed. In that moment, she vows to stay with him no matter what. She doesn't know anything about his childhood, or his father, but she'll let him talk about that when he's ready. For now, she just shakes her head and says, "I'll never leave you. I promise."

"Don't promise me that. You don't know me well enough." He sounds so vulnerable, it's killing Quinn.

"Well," she sighs. "I know that… I'm scared too. You know, my parents were the only couple that I grew up looking up to. So when Daddy left my mom, I kind of gave up on this fantasy of _love _and _feelings. _I'm scared of you leaving me, too. It's a big risk for both of us, and you could leave me when you realize how completely _average _and unremarkable I am. I want to take the risk, though. Because I've never felt anything so real in my life."

"You're not average," he says immediately, before she can continue.

"Arguable," she mutters.

"I'll spend my whole life arguing with you about that."

She rolls her eyes and stifles a grin. "Whatever."

"Whatever yourself," he chuckles before letting out a sigh. "You need to be patient with me. I'm going to fuck up a lot—_that's _a promise."

"Always," she promises, because she's already forgiven him for all of his fuck-ups before they even happen.

* * *

Noah Puckerman is in _way _too deep.


	13. Dear John

**Author's Note: So glad you guys are enjoying the story! Here's some angst for you. Feedback is great! Love you all!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_Maybe it's me and my blind optimism to blame_

_Or maybe it's you and your sick need to give love then take it away_

_You'll add my name to your long list of traitors who don't understand_

_And I'll look back and regret how I ignored when they said_

_Run as fast as you can_

…

_You are an expert at sorry and keeping lines blurry_

_Never impressed by me acing your tests_

_All the girls that you've run dry have tired lifeless eyes_

'_Cause you burned them out_

_But I took your matches before fire could catch me_

_So don't look now_

_I'm shining like fireworks over your sad empty town_

* * *

"Brittany! Lord Tubbington threw up in my room again!" Quinn yells as she's bounding down the stairs with a scowl on her face. She has a love-hate relationship with that cat. As soon as she's in the kitchen, she freezes. Noah Puckerman is sitting at the table next to a nervous Brittany.

"Hey…" he mutters guiltily.

Quinn ignores his greeting and turns to Brittany with a horrified expression. "Brittany Susan Pierce. What is _he _doing here?" Noah's presence is sending prickling anger down her spine.

Brittany looks beyond terrified, as she should. Why would she let Noah within a hundred feet of their apartment after what he did? "I think you guys should talk."

Quinn's eyebrows raise up high, and she looks utterly disgusted. "I don't. I think he said enough at the bar last night." She winces internally, remembering his anger and the word _slut _and the look on Riley's face. "Come to think of it, why isn't he in jail? He assaulted a stranger." She's talking about Puck like he isn't in the room.

"Because I bailed him out," Brittany admits sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with Quinn.

"You _what?_" Quinn screeches.

"Finn wouldn't bail me out," Puck interjected and, even though his voice was sending chills down her spine, Quinn still wouldn't look at him. Her hard gaze stayed on a very nervous Brittany. "He said that that he's tired of my crap and I should sit in jail to learn a lesson about _karma _or some shit."

Quinn silently high-fives Finn. She always liked him, even with his gross cheesy fingers. "Brittany, why did you bail him out? How did you even get the _money _to bail a person out of jail?"

"Lord Tubbington has been selling catnip in the Black Market," Brittany explains, and Quinn doesn't bat an eyelash because she's used to Brittany's cluelessness. "So I had enough money to bail Puck out, and I really think you guys should talk. Please don't yell at each other, because it hurts my ears, but just have a conversation. You haven't spoken once since the breakup, besides Puck calling you a slut and then punching that cute bartender. Maybe you won't get back together, and that's whatever, but… You should at least have some kind of closing. Closing? Closure? Closure… It's called _Closure_, right?"

Quinn's eyebrows are knit together, and she can't think about anything besides the fact that she cannot believe Brittany right now. "How _sweet_ of you to think of me, Brittany. But by bailing Puck out of jail, you're kind-of telling him that he can do whatever he wants without consequences. And my talking to him is going to teach him the same thing." She turns towards Puck and speaks to him. "I have _nothing _to say to you."

She turns towards to walk away, praying that he'll leave so she can recover from seeing him two times in 24 hours, but she hears him leap from the table.

"Please just talk to me," he begs, grabbing her arm and pulling her backwards. She stumbles back into him and quickly shoves against his chest.

"Don't _touch _me," she growls, taking a few steps back. Now she's angry, and her chest is heaving. Brittany looks mortified behind Puck, and Quinn sees her stand from the table to scurry back into her room. Great, now she's alone with Noah. "I don't _want _to talk to you."

"Look," he says nervously, holding his hands up in surrender with wide eyes. "I'm sorry. I know I've been saying that a lot, lately, but… I'm sorry about last night. I was drunk. That's not really an excuse, but I got drunk after our phone call because I was pissed. You know I don't really have a filter when I'm drunk, so I'm sorry that I called you a slut and I'm sorry that I punched your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend, moron," she snaps. "He _was _my first shot at being happy since you ruined everything, but I guess you ruined that too."

Puck looks defeated. His body sags, and it looks like he's blinking away tears. "I ruin everything. I know. I can't say anything more honest than I'm sorry, though. I know you don't believe me, but-"

"No," Quinn interrupts. "I don't believe you. If you were _ever _sorry, you wouldn't have kept fucking everything up the way you did."

"You know me, Quinn," he says a little more defensively, and this is exactly what Quinn didn't want. She didn't want to have this conversation with him. She didn't want to have _any _conversation with him ever again. "You know _everything _about me. It's not my fault that I'm like this. It's just… my dad, and everything he did…" He trails off, and Quinn stares at him with eyes that burn with tears.

She shakes her head and stands her ground. "I'm _sorry _that he made you this way, Noah. I'm sorry that you're so scared. I hate your dad just as much as you do. But you need to start taking responsibility for your actions. You can't keep blaming your father for everything that you do. _You _are not your dad, Puck. He didn't ruin us. _You _did."

"You promised that you'd never leave me," he squeaks, and it makes Quinn feel like dying. She remembers promising that.

Her mouth hangs open and all she can do is shake her head for a few seconds, because she's at a loss for words. How does she respond to that? "And you promised that you'd never _break _me. I don't trust you anymore." She's crying now, hot tears leaving trails on her porcelain skin.

"I'm so sorry," he begs one more time, clenching his jaw to keep from crying.

"Me too." They stare at each other for a long time, Quinn biting her lip and Puck's chest heaving. "You need to leave now."

* * *

Puck doesn't know what he expected when Brittany brought him to the apartment, but this definitely wasn't it.

A little part of him always held onto the tiny, glimmering home that they'd end up back together. Yeah, he fucked up, but she promised. She couldn't leave him forever because she _promised. _This conversation made everything too real, though.

He hears Quinn tell him to leave, but couldn't move his feet. He only stared at her and tried to fight off the screaming thoughts in his head. After the longest silence of his life, he takes a few steps forward until they are toe-to-toe. She refuses to look at him, instead staring at their feet. His hands come up to gently cup her face, and he tilts her chin so she is forced to look him in the eye. It's his last chance to ever feel her like this, because he realizes now that she is too far gone. He's ruined her and, despite what she thinks, he is _so _sorry. He's surprised that she's not resisting and pushing him away but, then again, she isn't reacting either. She's just standing there, tense under his embrace, staring at him with wide, bloodshot eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he manages to choke out between strangled breaths. His thumbs press against the wetness under her eyes and wipe away some remaining tears. Still, she doesn't move. He leans down and presses his lips to hers, re-learning her mouth. It's been too long since he's tasted her, and it's the most painful thing he's ever felt. Kissing her has always been incredible, but now she's barely kissing him back. It's a distant, cold, heartbroken kiss. He forces himself to pull away from those lips, looking her in the eye for one more second before side-stepping her and leaving the apartment.

A million camera flashes blind him as soon as he's outside in the cold air, and he's overwhelmed with frustration. He wants to handle this breakup on his own, but the whole world must know their goings-on. He hates that this is Quinn's life, too. He hates himself for dragging her into fame this way.

"Noah! Did Quinn bail you out of jail? Why are you at her apartment?" one paparazzo screams over the sea of photographers. Puck ignores him. He's struggling to find a cab, because they're making it impossible to see or walk anywhere.

"Is Riley pressing charges?"

"Did Riley hit back?"

"What's going on with the band? Did they kick you out?"

"Are you and Quinn back together?"

Puck doesn't ignore that question. "No," he says. "It's over. _We're _over. For good."

He wakes up the next morning to his face on a thousand tabloid covers. People Magazine features a picture of him leaving Quinn's, with a smaller picture of her face just after he punched Riley. It says _WE'RE OVER FOR GOOD!_ in huge, white block letters with smaller print underneath that reads _Inside Noah Puckerman's nasty breakup—how it all happened!_

He did this to himself.


	14. Breathless

**Author's Note: Good news, you guys! I've made it through my first semester as a college student (I expect you all to break out into applause upon reading this). I am terribly sorry that I've been absent for a few days—finals **_**killed **_**me. Luckily, I have a month to breathe and be a normal human being for a little while. Here's a late-night chapter for you. Bear with me if the chapters are sparse for the next couple of days. I want to spend time with my family and chill out for a little while so I may be distant from my computer. A "technology detox," if you will. I did however, want to get this chapter up so that you could read this note and know why I may not post much in the next few days. Not to worry—I certainly cannot, and will not, forget about this story. I am too invested and in love with it. Thank you so much for all of the great feedback. You guys don't know how much it means for an inexperienced writer like me! Keep it coming—it brightens my day and makes me want to write more! Love you all!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_When you feel the world is crashing all around your feet_

_Come running headlong into my arms_

_Breathless_

_I'll never judge you_

_I can only love you_

_Come now_

_Running headlong into my arms_

_Breathless_

* * *

This has to be what the end looks like. Quinn's never really been one to be dumped—She's always been the one to end things—but Puck isn't answering her text messages or phone calls. It must be something she said. She could've said something entirely too fast and raw for him. She knew he was too distant. She knew it was stupid to believe that she could fix him. Why does she always do that? Why does she insist on trying to _fix _the broken ones?

She's decided to drive to his house and investigate. He won't answer her phone calls, fine. But she isn't going to let him go that easy…. Maybe she's being a psychotic girlfriend. Maybe she's jumping to conclusions. He's probably just busy. His phone is probably off. Quinn always gets ahead of herself. Of course he doesn't want to end things. Why would he want to end things? He loves her laugh and her smell and her _dress. _He couldn't want to leave her…. Could he?

Jesus Christ, she's a drama queen.

Of course, the drive to Noah's apartment wouldn't be one driven by Quinn Fabray until she nearly crashes five times. The things she does for this boy.

Okay, so she's a _huge _drama queen. You get it.

When she pulls up to his building, she just sits in her car and stares at it for a few minutes. Is she insane for inviting herself over like this? What if he's totally fine and she looks crazy for driving over in such a panic? Does she really want him to see that clingy side of him yet? But what if something _is _wrong? Does she want to go in and succumb to whatever he's pissed about and possibly be dumped?

For real—the _Queen _of drama queens.

After a few (unnecessary) pep talks, she forces herself out of her car and travels up to Noah's floor. She buzzes for him and waits patiently, twisting back and forth in a steady rhythm and counting the flowers on the wallpaper in his hallway.

"What," he barks over the intercom, and Quinn is startled by the tone of his voice. She stares at the speaker for a couple of seconds with a puzzled expression. "_What,_" he says again, clearly impatient.

Quinn leaps forward to speak into his intercom's mic. "Hey, sorry. It's me. I mean… it's Quinn. Me," she mumbles, feeling like an idiot the whole time. "I was just coming to see if we… I mean, I was coming to see if _you _were okay. I just…. I don't know, I got worried when you wouldn't answer me."

His intercom is silent for a few seconds, and Quinn knows she's done it. She has officially coined herself as the psycho girlfriend.

"Come in," he grumbles right as Quinn is being swallowed whole by humiliation, and she hears the _click _of him letting her inside. She lets out a soft sigh of relief and steps into his apartment, coming face-to-face with an obviously disheveled Noah Puckerman. He is dressed in sweats and a wife beater, which he still manages to wear well (like, _really _well) despite the look of complete disgust on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asks, keeping her distant because he looks alarmingly pissed about something. She wishes she knew what, though.

"Why are you here?" he asks curtly, his gaze hard on Quinn. She winces internally, because he's never spoken to her like this before.

"I was just worried that you were angry with me," she explains calmly, trying to keep a level head. "You weren't answering me."

He sneers at Quinn and asks, "Do you think the whole world revolves around you?" That seriously hurts, but Quinn can't help noticing the way his speech is slurred.

"Have you been drinking?" she wonders out loud with a furrowed brow.

"Sexy _and _smart," he chuckles without a hint of humor in his voice. She's getting seriously annoyed with his attitude and more than a little confused about his anger.

Her jaw is clenched in an attempt to contain her growing annoyance with him. "Okay, did I do something wrong…?" she repeats, her tone a bit more assertive.

Puck shakes his head with a smarmy smirk on his face. "No, of course not," he spits out. "It's me. I know it's me—it's _always _me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm _talking _about everyone expecting me to do everything for them!" Puck snaps, and Quinn's eyes narrow. Should she understand what he's talking about right now? "I don't answer, like, _two _of your text messages and you flip the fuck out. I didn't know that I had to drop everything and tend to your every desire, Princess."

Okay, drunk Noah is _mean. _She doesn't know how drunk he is, though, because he seems pretty with it, just a little tipsy. So how much of what he's saying comes from sober thoughts?

"I don't know what you're talking about," she squeaks. Her eyes are wide, and stinging with tears. The way he's screaming at her is coming from left field. He's always been so sweet and compassionate. Where is this coming from? "I don't think I ask for that much…. And you ignored closer to ten texts and three phone calls."

He must have noticed how overwhelmed she was, because everything about him becomes significantly softer. "Don't cry," he croaks after a frustrated sigh. "I'm… sorry. Elijah called me today."

"Elijah…" Quinn trails off, because she doesn't know who Elijah. She's glancing around the room for some kind of clue.

"My dad," Puck interjects. He's avoiding her eyes.

"Oh…" Quinn doesn't know how to react. She knows that Puck and his father have a volatile history, but she's not sure why a phone call from him would bring this mood about.

"He asked for money," Noah grumbles again after, apparently, noticing Quinn's apparent confusion. "A lot of money."

"Did you give it to him?" Quinn asks nervously.

Puck won't look at her. "I _had _to give it to him. If I don't, he'll go looking for me in Ohio, and… when he sees that I'm not there, he'll just go after Ma. I'm happy to protect her, I just… can't pay my rent now."

"Oh," Quinn croaks in a barely-audible whisper. Now she understands his sudden outburst of _Everyone expects me to do everything. _

"I don't know what I'm going to do," he spits out, starting to sound more urgent and afraid. "Finn's sick of paying my half, and if the rent is late one more time my asshole landlord is going to kick me out. It isn't my fault, it's my drunk father. I can't handle all of these bills, and I don't want to handle my whole family anymore. I'm going to have nowhere to live."

"Hey," Quinn interrupts, sensing an impending eruption. "Stop, stop, stop. I will pay your rent for you, okay?"

Puck's eyebrows knit together and he scoffs at Quinn. "What? No. You can't pay my rent for me."

"Yes. I can," she corrects, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Fuck cautionary—Noah, quite obviously, needs to be held right now. "I've been making good money since starting at Rolling Stone. I can afford it once. Just pay me back when you have the money, okay? It's no big deal, seriously. Let me help you."

He looks like he's about to cry. His arms snake around her waist and he pulls her close. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole," he mumbles against her neck, nibbling at her skin. "I don't mean it."

"I know," Quinn says, because she's already forgiven him.

Puck is quiet for a long time. Quinn is assuming that they've agreed to let her help out, and she's letting him think quietly. No need to overwhelm him with more questions. People like Noah need time, you know. "He hit me," he breathes against her skin after a long quiet.

Quinn swallows the newfound lump in her throat, because it sounds like admitting that hurts him. "I know," she repeats in a sad voice.

Puck lifts his head from Quinn's neck and looks her dead in the eye. She studies his vulnerable, scared face. Her eyes trace over ever divot and line. She drinks in his square jaw, his distinctive nose, his ageless eyes… He is all hers without knowing it. Her hazel eyes fall on a faint white scar that stretches from his ear to his chin.

"Here," she coos, using her index finger to softly trace the scar. He's practically shaking, swallowing hard and nodding his head in response. She pushes up on her toes and kisses every inch of the line.

"You should leave me," he warns quietly, basically whispering now. "I'm not a good person."

Quinn shakes her head and lets her lips curl up into a kind smile, because she knows she won't ever leave him. "Never," she whispers sweetly.

"Let me love you, then," he chokes out hesitantly. Quinn knows that's a big word for him. It doesn't take more than a second for her to respond.

"Always."

* * *

Noah Puckerman knows better than to stand in front of a train moving at high speed. That's why he's confused about this situation. If he's so smart, why is he letting this train haul towards him? No—why is he _inviting _it to smash into him? He should be screaming and running fast. Internally, all red flags are up. He is telling himself _not _to fall for Quinn Fabray. Falling only ends with broken things. This will not end well but, oh, will it end.

There's something about her eyes, though. Yes, they're beautiful. He's thought it a thousand times—never before has he seem such a _perfect _hazel. They're mesmerizing. It's not their color, though. Her eyes have a depth that he's never before seen in another person. If he stares at them long enough, it's like he can see an entire lifetime play before him. He looks into those eyes and senses an age beyond her 22 years. He looks at them and feels like, maybe, he'll be okay. That feeling of security and warmth isn't common for him, which is why he often finds himself looking to her eyes for comfort. The most confusing thing, though, is the nakedness he feels. Those eyes are too honest. Honesty like that scares him, because it forces him to strip away his layers and throw down his walls. Walls that he's so carefully built up… But staring at her eyes makes him want them to crumble.

That's how Noah Puckerman knows that he is in love with Quinn Fabray. He's been trying to fight it but, in that moment, all of the resistance melts from his body.  
He is making love to Quinn tonight. He isn't fucking her. They aren't even having sex. They are making _love, _because he's in love with her and her eyes and she traced his scar.

He worships every inch of her body, memorizing Quinn Fabray. His tongue circles at the junction of her neck and chest, where the skin dips and her heartbeat is visible. He uses his hands to extend her arms and kiss each of them from the shoulder, to every fingertip. He traces her lips with an index finger before tracing them with _his _lips. He makes love to her mouth and lets out a soft moan because she tastes so perfect. Because she _is _so perfect.

For once in his life, Noah Puckerman takes sex slowly. Because he owes it to Quinn Fabray, and these _real _feelings, to let the sensation unravel as it may. He owes it to himself to experience just one real thing. He stops trying to control the storm and, for once, lets it consume him. It's time for him to give up the fight and just let feelings happen.

It's the one time sex has felt good in more than one way, and he tells Quinn that he loves her right as she climaxes. She says it back, her fingers pressed into his neck and her head buried in his chest. They are wrapped up in each other and completely lost in sensation. It's beautiful.

He understands beauty now, and he's never going back.


	15. The Way I Loved You

**Author's Note: Greetings from Vacation-land! I managed to pull myself out of my lazy streak long enough to write a chapter for you guys :) Thank you for being patient with me! I am very happy to be on break. Feedback is beautiful, as always!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_He can't see the smile I'm faking_

_And my heart's not breaking_

'_Cause I'm not feeling anything at all_

_And you were wild and crazy_

_Just so frustrating _

_Intoxicating_

_Complicated_

_Got away by some mistake and now_

_I miss screaming and fighting_

_And kissing in the rain_

_It's 2 AM And I'm cursing your name_

_I'm so in love that I acted insane_

_And that's the way I loved you_

_Breaking down and coming undone_

_It's a roller coaster kind of rush_

_I never knew I could feel that much_

_And that's the way I loved you_

* * *

Comfort. Quinn's gotten used to comfort.

Since _really _telling Noah goodbye, she's done her best to move on. Like, really move on. They owed it to each other to just forget the relationship ever happened. Much to her surprise, Riley ended up calling her a few weeks after the whole incident at the bar. He told her that it wasn't her fault Noah was such a jerk (like she didn't already know this) and that he'd be stupid to miss an opportunity with the most beautiful girl in New York. He's a charmer, this Riley, but Noah used to call her the most beautiful girl in the _world. _Still, this new relationship has nothing to do with Quinn's past. It has nothing to do with Noah or the way he hurt her. This is a _new _relationship. Quinn isn't going to compare them to each other.

For all intents and purposes, Riley is the most perfect boyfriend ever. He pulls chairs out for Quinn, holds doors open and buys her jewelry. He engages Quinn in conversation about her job. He kisses Quinn when she wants to be kissed, and gives her space when she doesn't. He's met Judy, who thinks he is simply _wonderful _and much better than that _awful _"druggie" Puckerman. That brings us back to the concept of comfort.

Comfortable. There is, really, no way to describe Quinn's relationship with Riley with another word. He treats her the way every girl dreams of being treated—he spoils her. She never has to worry about him hurting her feelings, because he's much too afraid to do that, and he'll never abandon her. They are polite and cordial with each other. Honestly, though, that's it. They are _comfortable. _

Riley doesn't have the presence of mind, or the desire, to ask Quinn about her soul. He doesn't know that what Quinn really wants to talk about is paintings and music and books and feelings and passion. He doesn't know that Quinn paints her secrets. He doesn't know that the sound of Aretha Franklin's voice makes her cry because it's so powerful. Riley doesn't know that her favorite book is _Paper Towns, _or that she's read it thirteen times. He doesn't know that Quinn's father left the family after cheating on Judy and breaking everybody's heart. He also doesn't know that Russell was a _known _alcoholic, but the family chose to ignore this problem because he only drank at bougie social events—He's a "high class" drinker. Riley doesn't know that Russell shattered Quinn's illusion of love that lasts until Noah put it back together… only to break it again. He doesn't know that, now, Quinn is perfectly fine with being _comfortable. _She actually _wants _their relationship to stay on the surface this way. She doesn't want him to know all of these things about her because, last time she gave herself to somebody (Noah), she was broken over and over again. Now, comfortable is a good thing to be.

Being with Noah was anything but comfortable. It was frustrating and passionate and scary and invigorating and beautiful and _terrifying, _but not comfortable.

She certainly feels grateful for Riley when she grows afraid of the way he will react to a snide comment, only to watch him smile and brush it off. Noah would have started a fight and screamed at her before leaving for a few days. She thinks of Noah every time Riley pulls her chair out for her. Noah never did that. Quinn thinks about Noah every time Riley asks her if it's okay to go out. It's silly, but Noah was never that cautious. She also, despite her better efforts, thinks about Noah whenever she and Riley have sex. His body language just _screams _terrified. He moves inside of Quinn like he's afraid to hurt her, barely bringing her to climax and leaving her unsatisfied. If she closes her eyes, Quinn can still imagine the way Noah's fingers trailed her body. The way his eyes raked over her figure and the way his lips made love to her. She can still hear him choking out confessions of love and begging her to stay. She remembers the way Noah's lovemaking would ease the fear of losing him.

She shouldn't compare them to each other, but she does.

But she's fine with being comfortable.

* * *

"Your girlfriend called."

Noah's just getting back from the liquor store, and this is Finn's greeting. He's sitting with his girlfriend, Rachel (they've been dating for about six months now) on the couch. Puck glares at him.

"Why are you answering my phone?"

"Dude, calm your balls. It rang and I thought it was mine. Laurie called, like, twenty five times. Should call her back."

Puck has cracked open a can of beer, and he's leaning against the counter scrolling through all his missed calls. Ten from Laurie. "She's not my girlfriend, dick. Just some girl I'm fucking."

Finn raises a skeptical eyebrow and Rachel looks disgusted. Puck shoots her a glare, because she doesn't know him _or _his life. "You fuck her a lot." Rachel can't believe the way they're talking about girls. "Do you fuck other girls, too?"

"Yeah, a couple." Puck's jaw is clenching in an attempt to contain his annoyance. He's not one for labels since Quinn.

"But you fuck Laurie on a regular basis, and sometimes you let her sleep over."

Puck rolls his eyes and his body language is starting to give away how _un_interested he is in this interrogation. "What's your point, Finnocence?"

"My _point,_" Finn begins, "is that you should probably tell her what your deal is so that she doesn't get any false illusions. Don't want to get her hopes up."

"She's fine," Puck barks, grabbing another beer. "She knows the deal. Strictly sex."

Rachel is shaking her head. Puck is tempted to kick her out but, then, this is Finn's apartment too. "Are you planning on being an asshole to every girl you meet from now on?" Finn asks. "I mean, are you going to screw Laurie up, too?"

"Probably," Puck sneers back sarcastically, and he's brought the phone to his ear. It's ringing, and he holds up a finger to stop Finn from asking anymore questions. Laurie answers after two rings and Puck rolls his eyes. "Hey. Come over." He hangs up without giving her a chance to speak.

After hanging up, he glances around the apartment. It's disgusting. There are beer cans, clothes, dirty dishes and money everywhere. He should probably clean up for Laurie, but he doesn't care what she thinks of the apartment and _she's_ never cared before. _And _she's not his girlfriend. She shows up a half hour later and knocks instead of helping herself in.

" 'Sup," Puck mutters down at her whilst swinging the door open. He doesn't look her in the eye.

"Hey," she chirps in a voice that _almost _sounds like Quinn's. She pushes up on her toes and kisses him on the cheek. She moves to capture his lips, but he pushes on her shoulder to deny a real kiss. To save himself from questioning, he smiles politely and offers her a beer. She says no.

"Okay, well… I did some laundry, so I have a change of clothes for you this time. Sorry about yesterday." Puck is trying to coax her into the bedroom by dropping these subtle hints, because they both know that's the only reason she's here.

Laurie is quiet long enough to make Puck finally _look _at her. She is a pretty girl. Blonde, hazel eyes, indistinct features. There is an innocent aura about her, but she's not especially remarkable. Puck likes to keep her around because, if he's drunk enough, she looks like Quinn. Sometimes he slips and says Quinn's name while Laurie is fucking him, but she never mentions it. She knows that she is a rebound and doesn't care. They both know. Puck can tell that Laurie wants more. She _wants _to be Puck's everything, and Puck admires her determination. It's laughable.

"Do you want to go to the movies with me?" she asks nervously after a while of avoiding eye contact with Puck. He knows what she's doing. She's trying to ease her way into a permanent spot in Puck's heart. She's trying to make their relationship a lot less fluid. She is leaning towards, and favoring, _labels _like "boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Not really," Noah sighs, trying his best not to sound like a total douche bag.

"Okay…" Laurie trails off. She looks disappointed. Puck _feels _like a disappointment.

They have sex twice that night, because Noah feels bad that she doesn't climax the first time. She doesn't climax the second time, either, but she pretends to. Noah knows that she pretends but doesn't bother her about it. He also said Quinn's name both times. The sadness on her face makes him feel bad enough to let her sleep over.

"If you want, you can come to the party with me next week," he offers while they're lying next to each other. He has some social event to go to with the band but doesn't remember what for. Who knows. Finn will fill him in on the details. Laurie beams at his offer and says she'll be delighted to go.

She wraps her arms around Puck while she sleeps, and he carefully shimmies his way out of them to roll over and face the wall.

She is _never _going to be Quinn.


	16. The Other Side of the Door

**Author's Note: So glad you guys are enjoying the story! Please note that there will be about 40 chapters total, so the story development is only just beginning! It will take a while for the reasons for the breakup to reveal themselves—starting with this chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_I'm so mad I might tell you that it's over_

_But if you look a little closer_

_I said leave_

_But all I really want is you _

_To stand outside my window throwing pebbles_

_Screaming 'I'm in love with you'_

_Wait there in the pouring rain_

_Come back for more_

_And don't you leave _

_Cause I know all I need is on the other side of the door_

* * *

Since their riff after Puck's conversation with Elijah, he and Quinn have had a quiet misunderstanding of each other. Quinn is grateful to have seen that side of Puck, because now they both understand that this relationship is much more than what's on the surface. There's a new sense of protection in their love for each other. Both of them know that there is much more to be learned—that this relationship will not be easy—but they're willing to put in the effort because they're operating on the same wavelength. These words are unspoken but, somehow, understood. Quinn feels these promises when she catches Noah staring at her, when his fingers lace in with hers, when they make love. She feels his promises always.

She's going to band practice with him today. They have a gig in a couple of days, so _Courage 2.0 _needs to be on its A-game. Lately, Noah's been spending all of his time rehearsing, and Quinn is tired of missing him, so he's bringing her along. She promises to be quiet and sit in a corner off to the side, as long as she can be with him. The band agrees to start practice early in the morning so their day is open for other plans. She's not happy about waking up at 5 AM but, then, it's all for him. He's grouchy in the morning until his second cup of coffee.

"You can sit here," Puck grumbles (still tired), pulling a chair around and against a wall on stage. It's closer to the band than expected, and she smiles at his focus. He's so in love with his music, and she can tell. She reaches in her messenger bag and pulls out a laptop to work on some articles for the magazine.

It's hard to focus on work when Puck's singing and, every time she thinks she can concentrate, he sings something sweeter. Often, she looks up from her laptop and admires him, beaming when he looks over and smiles back.

"Why don't you guys just fuck each other right here?" Finn snaps when he gets frustrated with their constant eye sex. He's a little bitter, and a _lot _jealous. Puck and Quinn just laugh at him. Quinn bites her lip and tries to look away from him again. Puck clenches his jaw and suppresses a grin.

An hour and a half goes by, and the rest of the boys leave for a ten-minute break. Quinn's written two sentences of her article. Puck looks like he's drunk on love. It's disgusting.

"How do we sound?" he asks, bending over to pick up a towel and dab his forehead free of any sweat. They're alone on stage, and the lights are dim. Quinn wonders how they got this venue to let them have a private practice but, then, they keep getting more famous.

"Well, _you _sound perfect…" Quinn chirps. He looms over her chair and bends down to kiss her. She cranes her neck up to meet him halfway and smiles wide against his lips. "You taste salty."

"It's the sweat," he chuckles, tucking some hair behind her ear. "You taste like strawberries and Quinn Fabray."

She giggles and pulls his bottom lip between her teeth. "It's the chapstick," she retorts.

"I hate you both," they hear Finn whine from offstage. He's walking back with a grinder and two bags of chips. Seriously, who can eat that much food? "This isn't the love shack."

"You need to have sex," Puck jokes, kissing Quinn's nose before standing up straight and turning to grab his guitar and tune it. She's sad that their bodies are no longer touching, but she'll survive. "Kitty's gonna be here soon, dude. Why don't you give her some of your chips?"

Finn scowls. "Because there are _my _chips, asshole. She can get her own damn chips." He's gripping the bag of Lays a little tighter, and Puck is rolling his eyes.

"Who's Kitty?" Quinn asks, a newfound curiosity settling in the pit of her stomach. She's sitting up a little straighter.

Puck ignores Quinn's question for a few seconds, too focused on tuning his guitar. He must feel her eyes on him, though, because he clears his throat after a few seconds and looks up with an indifferent expression. It looks like he is _struggling _to look indifferent. "Backup singer. One of them, anyways. We don't really need the backup singers to come to practice, but she insists." He shrugs and turns his attention back to tuning.

"What Puck _isn't _telling you," Finn begins with a mouthful of chips. Crumbs go flying from his lips and Quinn is eternally grossed out. "Is that she's a total bitch. She thinks that the world worships her."

"C'mon, dude, she's not _that _bad," Noah responds, but Finn's too busy stuffing his face to argue back. Quinn swallows the slight worry and tries to focus on the article. She isn't going to be possessive. She trusts Noah. They have an understanding, remember?

"Where the _hell _is my food?" a nasally voice sneers from the stage entrance. The sound of this girl's voice makes Quinn's skin crawl, and her head snaps up to meet a pair of evil eyes. Her lips look like they're permanently pursed, and she has a hand on her hip like she owns the place. Quinn already doesn't like her—She must be Kitty. "You know, I don't _have _to be here."

"You're right," Finn growls at her, tightening his grip on a pair of drumsticks. "You don't have to be here. It's your choice. None of the other backup singers are here."

"Oh please, Ten Ton Teen. Everybody knows that you sold out this show because of the _one _good backup singer you have. Me. I asked for a latte and a BLT before I got here. When I ask for something, you should consider it an order." Finn looks beyond confused, and it becomes apparent that he's not very bright.

"Kitty, calm down," Puck interjects. There's a look of concern on his face, because Finn and Kitty are clearly about to murder each other. "I seriously have to have this conversation with you, like, twenty times a week. _We _are the main act. You're a backup singer. Get your own damn food, okay?" His voice is firm, but there is a smile on his face. Looks like he might be a little terrified of her.

Kitty looks at Puck like he's made of candy. Seriously, she's practically drooling. "I like your shirt, Pucky," she coos, ignoring the whole food argument completely. She's undressing Puck with her eyes, and it makes Quinn's stomach churn.

Puck raises and eyebrow and clearly starts to panic. "This is Quinn," he mutters after clearing his throat. He takes a few steps back and grabs her hand.

"I'm his _girlfriend_," Quinn adds, squeezing Noah's hand and standing to greet Kitty. She extends an arm for a handshake and squeezes a little too hard when Kitty shakes back. There is an obvious stare down. Quinn's eyes are narrowed. Kitty looks unmoved.

Kitty cocks her head to the side and smiles knowingly. Quinn's ready to rip out her stupid ponytail. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Blondie. It looks like you pluck your eyebrows too much and that shirt doesn't fit you at all." The smile never leaves her face, and then she turns to disappear to the break room and find food.

"Sorry…" Puck apologizes, leaning down to kiss Quinn quickly before she can complain. "The agency signed her with us. She's _really _good, so we tolerate her. Don't listen to her." He grabs Quinn's shirt in a fist and nibbles her bottom lip. "And, for the record, I think you look sexy as fuck in this shirt."

"I'm still here, you perv," Finn grumbles. Puck sighs, lets go of Quinn's shirt and kisses her again before turning organize their set list. Quinn is still in shock from Kitty's balls, she barely kissed him back. She's just standing in the middle of the stage with her mouth hung open, trying to process what just happened. Puck is quite obviously avoiding eye contact with her, shuffling through papers and clenching his jaw. After a few awkward seconds, she takes her place in the chair off to the side. There will be no more working on this article today. She snaps her laptop shut and devotes all of her attention to keeping two eyes on Kitty.

She comes back thirty minutes later. The boys complain that break ended fifteen minutes ago. She rolls her eyes and tells them all to tuck their vaginas in. For the whole rehearsal, she takes up 600% of the stage, shoving Finn and Sam and annoying everyone with her presence. What _really _bothers Quinn is the way Kitty spends so much time on Puck. She hovers near him on stage and touches him way too much. Now and then, she'll try grinding up against him and wink at Quinn. She knows what she's doing. They _all _know what she's doing. Quinn is trying to look neutral, but there is steam radiating from her body. Puck looks mortified. Kitty is enjoying the attention.

She leaves after flipping off the whole band, save Puck—who she offers a kiss on the cheek. Before disappearing to the parking lot, she blows Quinn a kiss and mouths the word _Sorry. _Quinn shoots her a glare and sits stock-still while Puck packs up his equipment.

The ride home is super awkward. Noah and Quinn are silent. Her arms are crossed over her chest. Puck has white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. Now and then, he'll clear his throat and the sound will make Quinn jump. Her head is reeling. Yes, she trusts Puck. She certainly does not trust Kitty.

"How 'bout Chinese for dinner?" Puck asks awkwardly, pulling up along the curb outside his apartment building.

Quinn ignores his question. "I _hate _that Kitty girl," she spits out. They both know that's what this tension is about. There's no avoiding this conversation.

"Me too," Puck sighs. He's staring straight ahead, tapping the steering wheel absentmindedly.

"I mean, I _really _hate her. If you _really _hated her too, you would've kicked her out. Is something going on with you two?"

Puck's eyebrows knit together and he finally looks at Quinn like she's insane. "Are you kidding?" he asks. "You think I'm interested in _Kitty_?"

Quinn swallows the lump in her throat. "You didn't look _un_interested."

"You're insane," he snaps, shaking his head.

"Am I? Tell me why you didn't push her away when she tried rubbing up on you."

"Shut up."

Quinn's mouth hangs open. "Don't tell me to shut up."

"Shut. _Up_." he repeats, challenging Quinn with his eyes.

She chews on the inside of her cheek and glares right back at him. "Take me home," she demands.

"Gladly." He starts the car and they spend another tense fifteen minutes back to her apartment building. She doesn't say thank you or goodbye, only storms out of the car and slams the car door on her way out.

Maybe this fight is a little ridiculous. Puck hadn't really _done _anything wrong. It's a pride thing now, though, because she can't go back on her stance. She needs to stay mad.

All she really wants is for him to stop her from leaving.

* * *

Noah has learned something about Quinn Fabray: She goes from zero to sixty in three point five. Seriously. He understands that she's annoyed with Kitty, but why him? What did he do wrong? He couldn't have looked less interested in Kitty—Hell, his eyes stayed glued to Quinn for the whole performance.

See, this is why Puck stays away from relationships. Chicks are crazy and possessive. All a guy had to do was glance at another girl and their girlfriend would be ready to castrate them. This is _so _not Puck's thing. Normally, he'd forget about any bitch who acted as crazy as Quinn did, but everybody knew they were in a lot deeper than that. He was going to end up losing his balls just so that they'd stop fighting—even though he did nothing wrong. Ugh, girls suck.

He's waiting until the dust settles to say anything to her. Clearly, she's too unnecessarily heated to listen to _any _kind of apology, so he's giving her time. This is so stupid. Why is it up to him to fix things?

He drives over to her house around 6, a few hours after the fight. He knows that texting her to ask if it's okay will not end well—She'll tell him no. So he parks in the lot and takes the elevator up to her floor, welcoming himself into her apartment.

"Have you tried knocking?" she barks at him from on the couch. She looks adorable, in his basketball shorts and a tight white tank top. He hates her for being so goddamn cute. Looks like he's caught her watching Jersey Shore.

He smirks at her, clearly unmoved by her sneering, and removes his leather jacket. After hanging it over one of her kitchen chairs, he walks to the couch and sits next to her, settling in and getting comfortable. Quinn looks _so _annoyed.

"Why? Afraid I'll see you naked? Already have, babe."

Her lips are pursed, her brow is furrowed and she looks braced for a fight. "You can't be here right now."

"Doing important things, I see…" he mutters, pointing a finger to the wrestling oompa loompas on her television screen.

"I don't _want _you here," she snaps.

Puck lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his Mohawk. He grabs her legs and pulls her into his lap against her will. To keep her from straying too far, he snakes one hand tightly around her waist and the other grabs her chin to force eye contact.

"Would you shut _up_?" he asks, sounding more overwhelmed than angry. "This isn't easy for me."

Her eyes are wide, and she's caught off guard by his dominance.

She clears her throat and begins, "I just—"

"No, stop." He cuts her off by placing a hand over her mouth. Her eyes narrow and she tenses in his embrace. She is _very _annoyed right now. "Do you trust me?"

"You don't—"

"Yes or No. Do you trust me?"

She swallows and accepts defeat. Noah is in control. "Yes. I'm not—"

He cuts her off again. "So what? If you trust me, then why are you being so crazy about this?"

"I don't trust _her._"

He brushes a thumb over her quivering lip to silently let her know that it's okay. "Me neither," he agrees with a stone face. "We're on the same page, okay? She's _bad news, _I know. Everybody knows it. She doesn't mean anything to me, Quinn. I only see you. Promise."

Quinn lets out what sounds like a very cleansing breath. "I just don't want to lose you."

"Stop it," he says. "You aren't going to lose me, especially to somebody like Kitty. I love _you_. I don't want to wake up to anyone's face but yours, and I don't love any lips but these ones." He leans forward and offers a quick, honest kiss.

She's smiling now, and that glimmer is back in her stupid hazel eyes. Those eyes do something to him, you know. She leans forward and kisses him again, keeping it slow with her fingers pressed to the nape of his neck in a symbolic attempt to keep him from going away.

"I love you too," she mumbles into his mouth, and all is right in the world again.

Noah Puckerman has officially been neutered by one Quinn Fabray.


	17. The Story of Us

**Author's Note: I am **_**so **_**sorry for not publishing as often as I was! Being home for the holidays if very nice and I'm spending a lot of time with friends and family. I have not forgotten about this story. Thank you for being patient. Here is another chapter for you. Hang in there for the next one—I'll publish again within the next week! Keep the feedback coming! I love it!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_This is looking like a contest of who can act like they care less_

_But I liked it better when you were on my side_

_Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room and we're not speaking_

_And I'm dying to know is it killing you like it's killing me_

_I don't know what to say _

_Since the twist of fate when it all broke down_

_And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now_

* * *

"You look beautiful," Riley says, appearing behind Quinn as she scrunches her nose at her reflection.

She messes with the bow that ties at the small of her back and turns to look at Riley. "You think?" she asks, her nose still screwed up disapprovingly. Why is it that she never likes her dresses?

Riley leans down and kisses Quinn quickly. She's not disappointed when he pulls away because it doesn't feel like anything. "Of course," he says, smiling against her lips.

His opinion doesn't change the fact that she doesn't like this dress. She forces a smile up at him, spits out a quick thank you and slips on a jacket. He takes her hand, she doesn't put in the effort to lace their fingers together. They step outside into the cold city air and slip into a taxi cab. Quinn is not excited for this party. She always skips the issue release parties for Rolling Stone because once a month is too often to dress up. Riley wants to see what she does for work, though, so she's putting on a happy face and swallowing her pride. He's been good to her; The least she can do is wear uncomfortable shoes and socialize with people who aren't really her friends. The cab ride is quiet, because they don't talk to each other that much. He never engages her in conversation and she doesn't feel compelled to tell him about herself. She spends their trip staring out the window and messing with her lipgloss.

"Oh wow," Riley breathes upon stepping into the beautifully lit party room. "This is beautiful." There are twinkling white lights on every surface, white tablecloths and burgundy placemats in front of every chair.

Quinn is unmoved by the decorations. "Yeah," she mutters. She used to see beauty in almost everything, and now she's a walking shell of her old self. "It's nice." They find their table and take their seats, making awkward small talk about work and Quinn's dress and anything but the obvious lack of chemistry between them. After a while, Riley opens the event program and scans the itinerary. His face falls and it becomes clear that he is trying to avoid eye contact with Quinn.

"What is it?" Quinn asks, suddenly interested in her safe boyfriend.

Riley clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "It's um…. It's the band that's playing tonight."

She doesn't need him to explain. She already knows. It's _Courage 2.0_.

* * *

Noah Puckerman hates parties. Go figure, right? The most perfect place to meet chicks and get hammered, and he hates them. Leave it to Finn to schedule the band last minute for a Rolling Stone party. Apparently, Ed Sheeren was supposed to play at this event, but he got the flu. Yeah, _Courage 2.0 _could use a gig, but Rolling Stone brings back memories for Puck. He'd like to avoid these memories at all costs, especially now that he's having sex with Laurie (that's _all _he's doing with her, too—they are not a couple). At least he knows that Quinn will not be there. She never went to those parties. They have very expensive alcohol there, too, so he can get shitfaced and then fuck Laurie until he falls asleep. Sounds like an okay night.

Laurie is way too excited about this party. Since Puck invited her to go as his date (why did he do that?), she hasn't shut up about what dress she's going to wear or how she should do her hair. It frustrates Puck when he's trying to get her in bed and she won't stop talking.

He knows that he's an asshole. Laurie is too oblivious to care. She's dating a famous person, so it doesn't matter that they're not genuinely happy together.

He gets drunk before the event, so getting there is kind of a blur. He remembers Laurie trying to have sex with him in the cab and brushing her off. He remembers Laurie talking about how cute she looks in her dress. He remembers wanting to strangle Laurie, but he doesn't remember much after that. He does, however, remember walking into the venue and immediately laying his eyes on the most gorgeous human being on the face of the planet.

Quinn fucking Fabray. Of course.

It's enough to sober him up some, and he notices the way her eyes seem to well with tears upon seeing him. He knows that she feels the same knot in her stomach, the same lump in her throat, and wishes he could be the only one to suffer like this. She doesn't deserve to be so unhappy. He hates himself for making her like this. If only she'd smile again to show him that she'll be okay. He hasn't seen her smile in too long.

Riley's eyes are also on him. He watches Riley lean forward and grab Quinn's hand. That's when he rips his eyes away—those used to be his hands to hold. Laurie notices, too, and snickers. Good to know that she thinks this is funny. She yanks on Puck's arm and pulls him away. That's when he notices how frozen he was in that moment, because the sudden motion sets every nerve on fire.

"She looks like a whore in that dress," Laurie sneers. Puck tries his hardest not to reach over and rip her hair out, clenching his jaw instead. "I look so much cuter," she continues.

They take their seats, and Laurie won't stop bashing Quinn. Puck doesn't want to care, because Quinn isn't his to protect anymore, but he eventually leans over and quietly tells her to shut up through gritted teeth. She looks momentarily pissed until she sees a celebrity and gets distracted. Puck didn't realize how much of a bitch Laurie was until right now. It doesn't matter, though, because they're only fuck buddies. The thought of her ever wanting to make an emotional connection was nice while it lasted, but Puck realizes now that it was only an illusion.

Quinn and Puck are sitting too close to each other. The feeling of her presence is prickling his skin and making it impossible to see anything. The room is spinning way too fast, and he's trying so hard not to focus on the fact that Quinn is holding hands with somebody who isn't him. He knows that she's struggling to keep it cool, too, because they share short moments of eye contact and quickly look away.

They will never _not _be attracted to each other. They will never _not _crave that nearness. They will never have it again, though, ever.

He doesn't say anything to Laurie before getting on stage to perform. She's too obsessed with her chocolate covered strawberries. They're performing Ed Sheeren songs, because he was supposed to be the featured artist. Of course, Noah's eyes stay glued to Quinn. He doesn't want to stare at her, but her beauty demands constant attention. He will never be free from the vice grip that is her flawlessness. She will not, however, look at him. She refuses to.

Who are they? How did they become this way?

He knew they'd never get back together, but this party is only rubbing salt into the wound.

"_I paid all my dues and she wanted to know _

_That I'd never leave her now I'm ready to go _

_As strange as it seems, she's endless to me _

_She's just like paperwork but harder to read"_

He's singing Ed Sheeren's _She _through gritted teeth and stinging tears. He forces himself not to cry because the tears blur Quinn's image. She looks more and more uncomfortable as the performance progresses. The whole room, actually, is growing uncomfortable. Everybody knows about their breakup, so everybody knows what this run-in means. The tension is palpable. Puck finishes the performance with a barely-there voice, completely aware of the fact that he's just embarrassed himself. The entire room is impossibly quiet, all eyes on him and his tears. He sniffs, straightens up and forces himself off the stage.

That performance was pure torture. Watching Quinn avoid eye contact was pure torture. This party is pure torture.

As soon as he takes his seat, Laurie leans in and whispers in his ear, "I think it's hot when guys cry," as if that's supposed to make him feel better. "I'll help you forget all about her tonight."

He can't look at Quinn anymore, but he sees her in his peripherals. She stands up and quickly finds the exit with Riley. Apparently, she can't stand the nearness either. So she is leaving.

Noah should feel relieved that she's gone, but he wants nothing more than to leap from his seat, grab her and heal her. He wants to heal everything that he's broken. He wants to make love to her again. He wants to taste her realness.

Instead, he's stuck at this stupid party having just made a fool of himself, and Laurie won't shut up.

This is what his life has boiled down to.


	18. Treacherous

**Author's Note: Happy Holidays! I hope those of you who celebrate Christmas were treated nicely by Santa. I am enjoying my laziest days. It's been a very relaxing Christmas. I can't stay away from my writing for long, though—I miss it too much (especially with the reviews coming in constantly. I ****love**** that!). So here's another chapter for you. Once I'm back in school, I'll be posting on a daily basis to ease boredom in between classes (I'm going back Jan. 21****st****). Thank you for bearing with me until then! This chapter has a TRIGGER WARNING for violent themes and recounts of domestic abuse. Feedback is lovely!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_Put your lips close to mine_

_As long as they don't touch_

_Out of focus, eye to eye_

'_Til the gravity's too much_

_And I'll do anything you say_

_If you say it with your hands_

_And I'd be smart to walk away_

_But you're quicksand_

_Two headlights shine through the sleepless night _

_And I will get you, I'll get you alone_

_Your name has echoed through my mind _

_And I just think you, think you should know_

_That nothing safe is worth the drive_

_And I will follow you, follow you home_

_I'll follow you, follow you home_

_This hope is treacherous_

_This daydream is dangerous_

_This hope is treacherous  
I, I, I like it_

* * *

It's been a few months and they've learned that bickering is a constant thing in their relationship. They bicker about anything. Seriously—you name it. Most of the time, it ends with a tickle fight, angry/make-up sex, _I'm Sorry_s or all of the above. It rarely ever turns into a full-blown fight because, although they've learned that bickering is constant, they have also learned to work through disagreements.

Noah has a hard time talking about his past. He keeps his heard guarded behind iron bars and locked inside of several boxes. It's obvious to Quinn that there is so much brokenness—That, to unlock the boxes that protect his heart, she needs immense patience and selflessness. She is understanding when he flies off the handle, forgiving when he feels sorry, and attentive when he reveals another piece to the puzzle that is Noah Puckerman. Little by little, she is learning why he is afraid. She's learning about the darkest places in his mind, and how to light them up with her love. She's learning that simply lacing her fingers with his may calm him down more than words can. So far, she knows that Puck's father, Elijah, is an alcoholic. He is also, according to the scars all over Puck's body, an angry drunk. Quinn has learned that Elijah decides when he wants to be a part of the Puckerman family and welcomes himself into the house without invitation—even if Henriette has changed the locks. Noah has recalled the several times he'd come back and take a baseball bat to Henriette's frail body, or a lit cigarette to Puck's bare chest. He never explains how those times made him _feel, _but Quinn can see the fear behind his eyes when he's telling the stories. She listens patiently and answers with a quick kiss, because that's the only way she knows how to respond instantly. She spends the rest of their time together letting him know that he is safe in her love. Frustration washes over her when Puck pretends not to care about anything. She wonders why he acts hardened and tough, but then remembers that they are two different people. It's hard to handle his mood sometimes, but she keeps in mind the triggers that may set something off in Noah and reminds herself to remain patient. He doesn't always say thank you, but she's not steadfast for a thank you. She's steadfast because she loves him. Now and then, he will stop and acknowledge her unconditional love. That makes it all worth it.

Right now, they're snuggling. Noah refuses to call it _snuggling. _He calls it "resting together" but, with the way their bodies are tangled, it looks a lot like snuggling. They've been in bed all day, because the past week has been insane for both of them. They've earned a lazy day. Finn's been out for a few days, so they've had sex on every surface in the apartment—Every counter, every bed (Yes, even Finn's—Just to fuck with him), every floor and every table. Quinn's learned that she has a very dirty mouth when Noah's moving inside of her, which is only slightly disturbing. Noah loves it. They've just had sex for the fourth time on Noah's bed, and they're exhausted.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Noah asks after a long quiet. Clearly, he's been thinking about the cursing.

Quinn cringes. "Shut up," she mutters with the ghost of a smile. "I can't help it."

"Hey, I'm not complaining." He tightens his grip on her and nuzzles his chin into her hair. "I'm sleepy."

"I wonder why," Quinn says. "Could I have worn you out?"

Puck shimmies out from under Quinn and sits up with his legs swung over the side of the bed. "Yeah, yeah… Don't act like you're not tired either. Before we go to bed, can you get me sandwich and some pepsi?"

Quinn laughs out loud and settles into the bed on her side. "Funny," she retorts.

Puck rubs his eyes and looks over his shoulder. "I'm being serious!" he exclaims with a pout. He pairs it with the world's greatest puppy-dog eyes. "I'm hungry."

"Okay…" Quinn trails off, looking around the room. "So go make your own sandwich. I'm not hungry."

"Quiiiiiiiin," he whines.

Quinn sits up and furrows her brow at Puck. Is he being serious? "That's so, like, stereotypical meathead man. Asking your girlfriend to make you a sandwich after fucking her. I'm tired. You want a sandwich? You make it." She's being assertive, but she has a smile on her face to offset the obvious tension in the room.

Puck looks stunned. "How come you're being a bitch?"

Quinn knits her eyebrows together and cocks her head to one side. She's not buying into this. "I'm not a bitch. I want to sleep. I don't want to make food for _you _to eat when you're perfectly capable of using that sexy body to go to the kitchen to make your own. Don't fight with me about this, please. We've had such a nice day."

"Whatever," Puck mumbles before storming out of the room. She doesn't know if he's on his way to the kitchen or not, but now she's sad that their perfect day is ruined. Knowing what pisses him off is such a mystery, it's like walking on eggshells. She doesn't chase after him, because he'll shake her off, but settled into bed instead. They'll talk in the morning. For now, she'll focus on trying to sleep.

He doesn't come back to bed for an hour, and she slowly puts it together that he's not making a sandwich. He's staying away from her. She texts him, because her body is much too tired to get up.

**To my Noah: where r u? **

From my Noah:_**couch**_

**To my Noah: ur sleeping on the couch?**

From Noah: _**sherlock holmes**_

**To my Noah: why r u so rude?**

From my Noah: _**shut up**_

**To my Noah: come back 2 bed. stop being mad at me.**

From my Noah:_**I'm not mad at u**_

**To my Noah: then come back 2 bed**

From my Noah: _**No**_

She falls asleep in a cold, empty bed, wondering what she did wrong and how Noah can be so mean.

* * *

Sundays are the best, because Mom makes waffles from scratch and plays her Billie Holiday records. Noah and Sarah sit in the living room and watch cartoons while Mom cooks, and it's one of the only days during the week when they get along. Something about the start of a new week, the quiet freshness of a drizzly Sunday morning, the sound of breakfast on a hot pan and Billie Holiday's distinctive voice changes them during the morning hours. They curl up on the couch, wrapped in blankets bought from Goodwill and handmade pajamas, and laugh at the silly children's television shows.

This morning, Henriette stops the record to answer the phone.  
"Hello?" Noah and Sarah here from the couch. They assume it's a family friend, or nobody of consequence, and keep their focus on the screen. "Elijah, hi…. No, I…. No, Eli…..Hey, listen, it's not…. Stop screaming at me…..No. No. I'm sorry, I just… I need the check to buy Noah more clothes. He's about to start third grade and his clothes don't fit…. It's not much. No, Elijah, don't. Don't come here, please."

Mom appears in the doorway a few minutes later.

"Mommy, is breakfast almost ready? Noah keeps complaining about how slow you're going."

Noah's tiny jaw drops. "No I'm not! Honest, mom, I'm not! It's _Sarah_! She's complaining!"

Henriette lets out a nervous chuckle. She doesn't look angry, and Noah's too young and innocent to register the slight fear in her face. "Almost, done, my sweet peas. Remember that board game I bought you guys? It's upstairs in your drawer. Go play for a little while."

Noah sits up and furrows his brow. "You never want us to play that game," he says in a tiny voice. "You say there's too many little parts that go everywhere."

"Yeah, and you hate stepping on them."

"I know, I know," Henriette says, nodding her head with closed eyes. "I'm feeling generous today. Go play upstairs for a little bit. I don't want you watching anymore TV."

Noah and Sarah are oblivious to Henriette's motivation. She's trying to get them upstairs and away from Elijah. They look at each other, shrug their shoulders and head upstairs. It takes a while to find the board game, and they argue about what drawer it's in before Noah discovers that Sarah is right—it's in the third drawer down. After playing for a few minutes, both of them hear the door slam. Must've been mom with a heavy trashcan or something.

There's a man's voice. He sounds angry, but Sarah and Noah can't make out the words. They hear Mom trying to calm down the voice, begging with a hushed tone.

"Please," they hear her choke out, and now both children are sitting up and focused on the obvious confrontation downstairs. "You don't have to give me the child support check, okay? Just… Can you please leave? I don't want the babies to be around this. I'll call you."

"They're not babies, you stupid bitch," the angry voice says. "They're 8 and 5."

"Okay, okay, whatever. Please keep your voice down."

"Or what?" he barks.

"Elijah, Please— "

_Smack. _

"You still want to tell me what to do?" the kids hear him sneer. Henriette has fallen silent. Noah looks at a now panicked Sarah.

"Stay here, okay?" he says, standing up and kissing her head. "I'm gonna go see what it is. I'm sure it's nothing. They're probably just playing."

Little Noah grabs his Transformers pajamas, too small on him, and peeks around the corner down the stairs. He can't see anything, so he scurries downstairs quietly. After tip-toeing to the kitchen, his eyes fall on Elijah.

Daddy.

"Hi, Daddy," Puck squeals. He's so happy to see Elijah. It's been months, and Mom says it's because Elijah's too tired to visit.

"You," Eli snaps in response, ignoring little Noah's greeting. Henriette's hair is in his fist and she's bent over with a distraught expression. "Tell your mother that you aren't a baby."

"Noah, sweetheart, go upstairs," Henriette chokes out.

Noah realizes what's going on. Daddy gets angry a lot, and he uses his hands to punish the family. Mom tells Noah not to handle his own anger like that, that Elijah doesn't mean it, that she still loves them. Noah doesn't know why he's mad. He never knows why, actually.

"Well…" Noah says, confused. "She always _calls _me baby."

Elijah lets out a humorless chuckle and uses his fist to force Henriette's head against the corner of the counter. "You're unbelievable," he snaps. "How long are you going to treat these kids like babies? The sooner you teach this shithead about being a man, the sooner he'll stop being such a goddamn leech."

Henriette is on the ground, holding her head and crying. "Sweetie, go upstairs!" she yells again, and Puck is staring at her, horrified. It's his fault that Daddy hurt her head that way.

"Shut up," Elijah yells, kicking her in the stomach and sending her in the fetal position. He walks over to little Noah, who is staring up at him sheepishly. "When are you going to stop being so spoiled and take care of yourself?"

"I'm…. I'm little," Noah says shakily. "Mommy says I'm too young to get a job. I want to help her, though. I want to help you, too."

Elijah chuckles again, and Noah realizes how scary that is. He takes his lit cigarette between his fingers and narrows his eyes. "The sooner you stop making excuses for yourself," he says, putting the cigarette out on Noah's head. He cries out in pain and immediately starts crying, but Elijah is ignoring his screeches. "The sooner you'll actually be worth something." He stares down at Noah, who's crying, with a disgusted expression before kicking him in the stomach. Noah falls to the ground, next to his mother, and blacks out.

* * *

"I hate you!" Noah screams, grabbing at the blanket and thrashing wildly. "I hate you! I hate you!" He's grabbing for something, anything that he can reach, and sweating.

"Hey," he hears.

"I hate you!" is all he can scream back. He needs to get up off of this ground and catch up to Elijah. He's only 8 years old, and he looks ridiculous in his Transformers pajamas, but he could easily kill the guy.

"Hey!" he hears again, and he feels warm hands on his upper arms. They're shaking him, and he sees the house around him being eaten by fog. It's all disappearing. Billie Holiday is muffling to a silence, Mom is fading away, and he opens his eyes to a worried Quinn Fabray. "Noah? I think you were dreaming…"

His chest is heaving, there are beads of sweat all over his body, and he can still feel the pain of Elijah's boot in his side. "I hate him," he squeaks, shaking his head up at Puck with a quivering lip.

"I know," Quinn says, and she's comforting Noah with some nurturing kisses to the forehead. "It was just a bad dream."

It takes a while for Puck to gain an awareness of his surroundings. After calming down, he realizes that he's on the couch. He's on the couch because he got pissed at Quinn for not making him a sandwich. God, he is the actual worst. She must've heard him screaming and ran to the living room from his bedroom. Now, she's straddling his lap with her arms wrapped around his waist. She's kissing his chest and soothing him.

"It's okay," she coos. "It's over now, okay?"

Puck realizes that the nightmare happened because Quinn wasn't next to him. She wasn't there for him to hold tight and feel safe. As long as she's sleeping with her body molded to his, he sleeps soundly.

"I'm sorry for being such a douche bag," he apologizes after laying with her pressed tight to his body.

Quinn is quiet for a few seconds. "It's okay. Come back to bed."


	19. Tied Together With a Smile

**Author's Note: Your feedback always makes me so happy. Hope your holidays are going swell. There's a little canon Quinn Fabray cameo in here in this chapter. Can you find it? ;) Sorry that it's so short- Sleepy from a very long day! More coming soon!  
**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_Hold on baby_

_You're losing it_

_The water's high_

_You're jumping into it_

_And letting go_

_And no one knows that you cry_

_But you don't tell anyone that you might not be the golden one_

_And you're tied together with a smile_

_But you're coming undone_

* * *

"Sweetheart, he's just wonderful."

Quinn smiles at Judy and nods her head. She says, "Thank you," instead of, "I know." They've just finished dinner and it's the first time Judy's ever met Riley. Before, she's only heard about him on the phone and seen pictures, but Quinn gritted her teeth and brought Riley along for family dinner. _Family, _although it's been Quinn and Judy for the past ten years.

Riley's in the other room cleaning the dishes. He insisted that Judy and Quinn put up their feet while he cleans, which Judy thinks is just _delightful. _

"It's so refreshing to see you with a nice guy for a change," Judy observes, and Quinn knows it's a dig. She's never been a fan of Noah. Noah's never been a fan of Judy, either, so there's that. They've never clicked. Judy didn't like Noah's mohawk or the way he looked at Quinn. Noah didn't like Judy's dress suits or the way _she_ patronized Quinn.

Quinn chews on the inside of her cheek, because she _gets the point _already. She understands just how perfect Riley is, okay? Can everybody stop talking about it now? "I know. He's nice," she agrees over the screaming in her head.

"You must be so happy…" Judy says, but it sounds like a question more than a declaration. She must see the hollowness in Quinn's eyes.

"I am happy," Q says. She smiles with teeth for a second, hoping that'll be enough to convince Judy to shut up. They've never had the kind of relationship that Quinn's always wanted to have with her mother. Never people for heart-to-hearts.

Judy blinks a few times and nods her head, moving on entirely. Quinn can tell that she noted the lie in her tone but decided against prying. Part of her is thankful for the boundaries. Part of her wants her mother, of all people, to shake her out of this rut and _need _to see all of her daughter's heart. They'll always be distant, though, and Quinn has accepted that.

"Your father is getting married," Judy says after a long quiet. Riley stops washing dishes to look over his shoulder.

"Oh," Quinn squeaks. She hasn't heard anything from or about her father in years. He's become a fading memory of Quinn's. She's starting to forget what his face looks like. She doesn't ask her mother for details about the wedding, because she doesn't want to know. Russell's life does not matter to them.

Judy's eyeing Quinn and gauging her reaction. Apparently, she thinks it's okay to keep talking despite the obvious look of discomfort on Quinn's face. "Her name is Amelia. She's 32 years old and she has young children. She was his secretary, apparently."

"Mother," Quinn interrupts, holding up her hand. Her eyes are squeezed shut in an attempt to wash her brain clean of images of her father with a 32-year-old woman. "I don't want to hear about this. Stop it, please."

"Of course you don't," Judy says. "You never want to hear about what's going on with me or how I'm feeling."

Quinn furrows her brow. "What does Russell getting married have to do with _you?_"

Judy scoffs. "I was married to the man. I'm hurting."

"Well," Quinn starts, squeezing the bridge of her nose and becoming more aware of Riley's eyes on the pair of them. "I'm sorry that you're hurting, Mom. It's been over ten years since he left, though. You couldn't think that he'd stay single forever, could you? He's had, like, twenty girlfriends."

"You are so insensitive," Judy whimpers. God, she is so dramatic.

Quinn shakes her head and clenches her jaw. "_I'm _insensitive? How many times did you pick up the phone when I needed you after Noah and I broke up?"

"Oh Honey," Judy sneers with a shake of her hand. "He was no good for you."

"Why does that matter, Judy?" Quinn screeches. She's using first names now, because this woman has never been her mom. "I was hurting, too, you know. He and I were in love for a very long time, and then he broke me just the way Russell broke you. And you knew. And I needed you. I needed my mom."

Judy is stunned into silence for a brief second. So is Riley who has, apparently, given up on all dishwashing. His eyes are wide and he's twisting the wet dishrag in tight fists.

"Sweetheart…" she finally starts, in a much more empathetic tone.

"Don't," Quinn stops her with a raised hand, wiping away a stray tear and standing from the couch. "Riley, babe, can we go?"

Riley rushes to Quinn's side like a puppy. He snakes an arm around her waist and smiles awkwardly at Judy, who's sitting on the couch. "It was so nice to meet you, Ms. Fabray," he nearly chokes out.

"You too, dear," Judy struggles to respond from the couch.

Quinn doesn't wait for the awkwardness to persist before pulling on Riley's arm and coaxing him towards the door. On the way out, her eyes fall on the bulletin board by the back window. That's where the Fabrays would always tack up notes and reminders and shopping lists. In the bottom right corner, there's a white scrap of paper with cat scratch on it.

_Sorry that I burped so loud during dinner and rubbed your leg with my foot under the table. I could've sworn it was Quinn's. Your daughter is a total babe, Ms. F! Good work. Try smiling a little more. You'll get frown lines._

_-N_

* * *

"I cheated on you," Puck tells Laurie. She's laying in his bed, wearing Quinn's shirt and drinking Puck's beer.

Apparently they're an official, exclusive couple now. That was Laurie's declaration. Puck was too drunk to disagree with her (he's almost always drunk). He didn't really cheat on her, though. He's just trying to find any way to get her to leave.

"What she hotter than me?" Laurie asks calmly, licking her lips to savor the flavor of Puck's beer. _Puck's _beer that she just helped herself to.

He raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Laurie looks up and matches Noah's raised eyebrow. "I asked you if she was hotter than me. Yes or no?"

"I don't know…. No?" he runs a hand over his Mohawk in frustration.

Laurie glances away, considers this and then shrugs. "Then it couldn't have been very good." She refocuses her attention back to her phone and her beer. Noah glances at her phone to read the title of an US Magazine article about the two of them.

_NOAH PUCKERMAN STEPS OUT WITH NEW GIRLFRIEND JUST WEEKS AFTER FIGHT IN BAR! IS SHE A REBOUND OR THE REAL THING?_

He frowns at Laurie's phone, then at her, but she's too engrossed in the pictures of herself to notice. He slumps into the bed and rolls over to face the wall.

God, he misses Quinn.


	20. Come In With the Rain

**Author's Note: Hey, look at me—Publishing a chapter one day after the last! I haven't done that in weeks! Go me. So here's another angsty (Who's surprised?) chapter for you. Thanks for the feedback. You all are dolls. If you want to leave suggestions, feel free to message me or leave a comment—I want to write stuff that you're interested in (just so you guys know, my next fic will **_**either **_**be Puckleberry or Faberry). I was thinking it'd be fun to keep the music element going, so if there's an artist(s) that you'd like me to incorporate in another fic just let me know! I want my fics to be very interactive. Also, stop by and say hey on tumblr ( .com)! Feedback is lovely, as always! Love you!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_I could stand up and sing you a song_

_But I don't want to have to go that far_

_And I, I've got you down_

_I know you by heart_

_And you don't even know where I start_

_Talk to yourself_

_Talk to the tears_

_Talk to the man who put you here_

_And don't wait for the skies to clear_

_I'll leave my window open_

'_Cause I'm too tired at night to call your name_

_Just know I'm right here hoping_

_That you'll come in with the rain_

* * *

New Years Eve is the greatest. Quinn takes advantage of the newness of everything and loves an opportunity to clean her slate. New year, new Quinn. Of course, that's every young girl's resolution, but Fabray makes a valiant effort until mid-March when her motivation fizzles and she falls back into the same routines. Still, that feeling comes around every year and something about it is magical. Admittedly, it's been hard in recent years to watch everybody have their midnight kiss, but this year she has Noah. And they're going to a fancy, black-and-white party.

He's not too excited about it. Noah isn't a huge fan of parties, and neither is Quinn, but Brittany invited them and it'll be fun. It's hard to go out lately with Puck's growing fame—hers is growing, too, since they're together. It seems that neither of them are ever allowed privacy. Their every outing must be stalked and documented by photographers. Noah's temper is short enough without the fame…. But that doesn't matter, because it's New Year's Eve and Quinn is wearing a pretty white dress and Noah looks just yummy in his tux.

"You look handsome," she says with sparkly eyes, gazing up at him like he's just the greatest thing.

He smiles at her and snakes a hand around her waist, "You look unbelievable." He's pulled her so that their bodies are molded together. Her chin is pressed to his chest and she's grinning up at him. It's moments like this when she can't believe that she is his. Noah moves a hand down to her ass and gives a squeeze. "Seriously, this dress is ridiculous on you. I hope they have a bathroom at this party."

"I'm not having sex with you at the party, Noah Puckerman," Quinn scoffs, even though it sounds like a fine idea. She needs to at least _pretend _to be lady-like.

Noah pouts, but doesn't push the subject. He bends down to offer a quick kiss, leaving Quinn unsatisfied, and then tugs on her arm to the limo outside. There are five men with cameras blinding them, but they actually stop and pose for a few pictures—something they rarely do, but it's a new year and they're both aware of their attractiveness, both as a couple and as individuals.

When they get settled into the limo, Puck pops a bottle of champagne and puts it to Quinn's lips. Being bottle-fed has never looked hotter. Her hand is gripping his on the bottle, and she's downing the drink like it's water, licking her lips when the bottle is pulled away. Noah's eyes are half-lidded and dark, and she knows what she's doing. They're like bunnies but, God, look at him.

New Years in NYC is, obviously, impossibly crowded. That's why a ten-minute car ride to the venue turns into an hour-long one. That's okay, though, because there's more champagne. They can't keep their hands off of each other. The driver is disgusted. Quinn stops drinking after the buzz sets in. This is a night that she wants to remember. Noah, however, doesn't stop. He can't drink enough champagne. Quinn is only mildly concerned. It's okay, right? He's just caught up in the occasion. She smiles at him and eagerly welcomes his kisses, which turn sloppier with each swig of champagne.

"And here we are, my sexy lady," he slurs once they pull up outside of the venue. He's _gone. _He steps out of the limo first, stepping out onto the sidewalk and ignoring the crowd of paparazzi. One of them makes a comment about how drunk Noah looks, and Quinn just smiles and takes his hand. They walk inside together, and Quinn notices how tight she has to grip his hand so that he stays standing up. He's drunker than she thought.

"You're, like, really drunk," she observes out loud with a chuckle.

Brittany and Santana walk over and greet them, then disappear into the bathroom. Quinn _knows _what they're going to do. They don't know anybody else at this party, but a few younger girls ask for Noah's autograph after giving Quinn dirty looks (Jealousy. She's used to it). He sloppily signs their napkins and pulls Quinn in again.

It's like kissing a dog. Seriously, when he's drunk, Noah loses all control over his lips. It sucks, because he likes kissing _even more _when there's alcohol in his system and it's not the greatest experience of Quinn's life. She kisses him back, though, because he wants it and she does too. She'll always want to kiss him.

"Hey Finn!," Puck screams. He's holding onto Quinn unusually tight. She feels almost suffocated. He spins around to look at his friend, swinging Quinn with him. He almost falls over, and so does she. They regain their balance, though, and Puck slides a hand down to her ass. She shimmies her hips to reposition it on the small of her back. Quinn's not a huge fan of PDA. "Doesn't my girlfriend look sexy as _fuck? _Tell her she looks sexy as fuck, Finn."

"You both look good…" Finn trails off with an amused smile. It's, clearly, not the first time he's seen Puck this drunk. "How much have you had to drink, Killer?"  
Puck scoffs. "Not _that _much. Just enough to get happy."

Quinn furrows her brow, blinks and laughs out loud. "He drank almost an entire bottle of champagne by himself," she corrects.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not right here," he snaps. "It's a good thing I'm drunk enough to not care when you're so fucking snotty."

Okay, ouch.

Finn feels awkward. _Everyone _feels awkward now, actually. Puck's so friggin bipolar when he's drunk. Hudson excuses himself, though, and Quinn's left with the angry drunk Puckerman.

"Sorry," he mumbles unenthusiastically, walking backwards and effectively cornering her against the wall. "For being a douchebag, I mean. Can we kiss each other now? I miss your tongue. Kiss me, now." He goes in for another sloppy kiss. His hips are keeping Quinn pressed to the wall, his hands pinning her arms above her head. If they were home, she'd love his dominance, but they're not home. They're in public, at a crowded party, and he's being very rough with her.

"Stop it," she squeaks, turning her head to avoid his lips. "I don't want to do this here. There are people watching. Can we just dance and have fun?"

Noah uses a hand to grip Quinn's chin and turn her face towards his and force eye contact. She's not used to that—it scares her. "I don't want to dance, I want to taste you. Kissing is fun. We can have fun kissing." He pulls at her chin to shut her up again, but she manages to shove him away this time.

"Stop, it Noah. I don't want to."

He looks pissed now, and there's a small group of people who are watching them now. "Why are you being such a fucking bitch?" he asks.

Quinn stands her ground and clenches her jaw. She's getting real tired of his empty _Sorry_s. "_I'm _not being anything, Noah Puckerman, _You _are being an obnoxious drunk right now. You're manhandling me at a crowded party full of people that I don't know."

"You don't like when I touch you?"  
Quinn squeezes the bridge of her nose. "You are impossible," she sighs. "Yes, I love when we're together. But I don't want it to be like this. You're being really rough with me. And you aren't even going to remember it. It's not special. I wanted this night to be special."

He lets out a humorless chuckle, squeezing his fists together by his sides. "It's always special when we kiss."

"Yes," Quinn agrees immediately. "It is, but I don't like the way when you get when you're drunk."

"And _what _do I get like, Fabray?" he asks in an accusatory tone.

She's beyond embarrassed. Why does he do this? How come he turns into this person? "I don't know. You're just…. Not you. And I just thought you'd be sensitive after…." She stops herself. Elijah is a touchy subject.

It's too late. He looks completely and utterly _enraged _now. "After _what? _You thought I'd be sensitive after _what?_"

Quinn blinks away the shock, because she knows now that she's stepped in it. "I just thought that you would be more careful with alcohol after what you've been through, that's all."

"You're telling me that I am like my father. You're calling me an alcoholic." Quinn opens her mouth to argue, because that's _not _what she's saying. He cuts her off, "Go to hell."

Just like that, he storms away. She's in the corner of a huge room, surrounded by strangers (many of whom are staring at her after Puck drew attention with the volume of his voice), feeling very tiny. How did a night with such potential turn out so terribly?

Some New Year's.

* * *

"And then you told her to Go to Hell and left the party."

"How did I get home?" Puck asks, horrified.

Finn's frowning. Noah can tell that he's tired of all the bullshit. "I saw you storm out and caught a cab with you to make sure that you didn't, like, walk out in the middle of traffic or something."

Puck runs a hand over his mohawk and lets out a frustrated breath. He can_not _believe what he did last night. He seriously didn't think he was _that _drunk. God, why is he such a fuck up? He reminds himself how lucky he is that Quinn hasn't completely given up yet.

Quinn.

"Where's Quinn? What happened to her?"

"She took the limo back to her place. I took your phone in the cab so that you wouldn't make any phone calls or send texts that you'd regret. She called you and I answered. She's really upset, dude."

"Yeah, no shit," Puck snaps. "I fucked up big time, bro." He squeezes his eyes shut. Is this headache from the hangover or from guilt?

Finn punches Puck in the arm. "Go get her, you asshole. This is the part when you go and kiss her ass until she forgives you."

Noah rolls his eyes. He _hates _this part of fights but, God, Quinn deserves a million apologies. "Yeah, yeah…" He rolls out of bed and grabs his jacket, slipping it on and leaving after brushing his teeth quickly.

Getting to Quinn's takes a lot longer when he feels as sorry as he does now. He's speeding, and he still can't get there fast enough. His road rage doesn't help, either. When he finally makes it to her building, it takes a long pep talk to force himself out of the car. She might break up with him over this and, honestly, he wouldn't blame her.

"Quinn?" he calls out after picking her lock with a paperclip and welcoming himself in. She's not in the living room, but Brittany is. She doesn't look the slightest bit worried that he's just picked her lock.

"She's sleeping," Brittany says, scratching behind Lord Tubbington's ear. "Or she's dead. I haven't checked to make sure she's breathing, but I heard her crying earlier this morning so I'm pretty sure she's alive. You should go check, though."

She was crying this morning.

Because of Puck.

He is the actual worst.

He doesn't wait any longer before practically sprinting to Quinn's bedroom. He opens the door quietly and lets his eyes fall on his perfect girl, curled up wearing _his _sweatshirt. She's asleep, but her face is blotchy and raw—like she's been crying. He feels awful.

Noah's eyes don't move from her perfect, still figure while he bends down to remove his boots and quietly place them by her door. He peels off his jacket and sets it down, walking slowly to her bed and crawling in next to her. She stirs from the movement and blinks her eyes open, rolling over to look at him.

"Hi," she croaks. She's frowning, her expression broken.

Puck's never felt more responsible for somebody else's pain. He's never felt more terrible than he does now. He doesn't say anything back, but he reaches out to tug her closer. She is enveloped in his embrace, and he's holding her tight. "I'm so sorry, Quinn," he mumbles into her hair.

She adjusts her body so that they fit more comfortably together, wrapping her arms around him. "I can't keep fighting like this," she breathes into his chest. "I'm too tired."

It's an unspoken ultimatum: Shape up or break up. Puck hears it loud and clear, and he understands. Quinn must be so exhausted with the way he tests her patience. God bless her for being so faithful. He decides, in that moment, to clean up his act. Because he cannot lose Quinn. Because he cannot become his father. Because he is better than behavior like this.

"I will get better," he promises, rubbing circles into her back. "Please stay and see. I will get better. I'm sorry."

She's quiet for a few seconds. "I know you're sorry," she says, her breath warming Noah's skin through his T-shirt. Her voice falters, like she's not _really _sure that Noah is sorry. Who could blame her?

They fall asleep like that: tangled in each other and feeling a lot different than before. Noah feels different because he knows that Quinn is at the end of her rope. One more fuck up and he could lose her. That's why he's holding her tighter than usual—because, if he doesn't hold her tight, maybe she'd float away into nothingness.

He's never needed another person so much.


	21. You Belong With Me

**Author's Note: Shoutout to ****Quick1329 and littleredwritinggleek, who gave me the best reviews I've ever received on the last chapter. I heard your request, Quick1329, and I will strive for at least two chapters a week! I hope everybody had a fun New Year's (more fun than Quinn's), and I hope you've all resolved to make yourselves smile at least once a day! So glad you're enjoying the story. I love writing it, even if it affects my mood to write about such dark stuff. I think it's important to handle issues like drinking and abuse with respect and care, so I am delighted to hear that my writing style does not take away from the story! I'm also glad to hear that ya'll are reading these Author's Notes, because I want to interact with you guys and tailor the story to your opinions as fans. So sorry that this note is long, but I wanted to give you extra love after those awesome reviews. Tell your friends about this story and keep reading (and say hi on tumblr—link on my author page)! I love to know that you're waiting for me to write—it's awesome motivation!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night_

_I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry_

_I know your favorite songs and you tell me 'bout your dreams_

_Think I know where you belong_

_Think I know it's with me_

_Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you_

_Been here all along_

_So why can't you see_

_You belong with me_

* * *

Maybe she just wants to go against her mother. Maybe she's forgotten what's good for her. Maybe she can no longer think straight, but Quinn's been missing Noah all over again, and even more, since her blowout with Judy.

She's had a lot of time to think about what it all meant. She's thought about the way Noah would look at her, and the way Judy wholeheartedly disapproved. It's occurred to Quinn that Riley's eyes aren't the least bit threatening. When he looks at Quinn, he's only looking at her. Noah used his eyes alone to explore Quinn, to study her, to learn her, to speak to her, to love her. Judy's afraid of something with so much depth because, last time she had it, she drowned. Quinn's accepted the fact that Judy's complete disgust with Noah, and infatuation with Riley, is a twisted form of maternal protection. She's been burned by love before, and she senses the passion that can so easily burn her own daughter, too. Judy would rather watch Quinn go through the motions without any realness, than see her cripple from the potential hurt that results from being a part of something real. Quinn looks at her mother, though, and the emptiness in her life. Russell has robbed her of all passion and romance. If she'd only put herself out there, perhaps Judy can have any kind of happiness beyond the comfortable kind. She's too afraid, though. Quinn's learned one thing from her mother's story, though: That will not be hers. The more she has time to think, the more distant from Riley she becomes. He is perfect for her, but he is not perfect for _her_.

It's making her act crazy, apparently. Here she is, dialing Noah's number (which she knows by heart despite that fact that she's deleted it from her phone). She's sitting Indian-style in the middle of her bed, fed up with all of the thinking. She can't _not _talk to Noah anymore. She doesn't know what's to come of this phone call, or if he'll even pick up, but there's no stopping her.

"Quinn?" he answers right when her senses kick in and remind her to hang up.

Her eyes widen and she stares straight ahead, shocked at what she's just done. "Hi…. Um… I'm sorry," she squeaks nervously, her heart beating straight from her chest.

The line is quiet for the longest ten seconds of her life. "Why are you calling me? Is everything okay? Are you safe?"

He's so concerned. He cares so much about her. "Yes, I'm safe," she begins. She tucks some hair behind her ear. "I don't know if I'm okay. Are you okay?"

Another long pause. "Why are you calling me, Quinn?"

She should have known that this was a bad idea. They're angry with each other—furious. They're never speaking to each other again. They're _broken up. _"I just wanted to hear your voice," she admits in a shaky voice. God, she sounds pathetic.

"My voice," Puck repeats condescendingly. She's forgotten how mean he can be. Guess that's what happens after a breakup—your heart only remembers the good stuff. "Well, you've heard it. I think you should hang up now."

"Wait," she cries out, gripping the phone like it's his hand. "Don't go, please. I don't want anything from you, I just want to know that you're still there. Maybe we can be friends."

"Jesus, Quinn," he curses. He sounds beyond fed up. "Are you a complete idiot? I can't be _friends_ with you. I can't hear your voice like this without missing you. You think being friends is going to be easy when all I'll think about is the way I used to have you? You want to be _friends _so you can talk about Riley? No. I don't want to be _friends, _Lucy."

"Don't call me Lucy. I'm not Lucy."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Quinn sucks in a huge breath and realizes that it's going to take forever to heal the wounds from this call. What a horrible idea. "I'm sorry I called."

"Yeah, me too," Noah sneers, and he hangs up.

She's left hearing the deafening silence of her empty apartment, feeling the coldness of an empty bed, and trying to breathe past the pain of a broken heart.

Maybe Judy is right.

* * *

"Aim for the fucking _toilet, _you asshole," Laurie curses, scrubbing her hands free of vomit. If he wasn't so drunk, he'd turn around and rip her hair out (he wouldn't, really, it's just a temptation). God, she's annoying.

"Sorry that my _aim _sucks, bitch," he slurs into the toilet bowl. "I'm drunk. It happens. I didn't ask for your help."

Laurie lets out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah? Let's see you take care of yourself."

"God," Puck growls, but he's interrupted by more vomit that quickly travels up his throat and into the toilet. "Would you get the fuck _out _of my apartment? I don't want you here right now."

Laurie raises an eyebrow and stares at Noah with narrow eyes. He looks _so _pathetic, gripping the porcelain for dear life. "Fine," she scoffs. "Have fun slipping on your own puke and cracking your skull open."

Noah hears Laurie stomp her way out of the bathroom and slam the apartment door. Thank Moses she's gone. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flushes the toilet, gripping its sides for support and hoisting himself to a standing position. It takes a few seconds for him to feel like his head is screwed on straight enough to slouch over to couch. He can't quite make it, though—alcohol throws his balance off in a big way. When he's about twenty feet from the couch, he collapses and passes out.

He has no idea who Laurie is calling while he's passed out.

* * *

She's standing outside of Puck's apartment, completely unaware of the fact that Noah is unconscious just a wall away. All of her weight is on one foot, her hip jutted out, and she's tapping a foot like this is just the most boring thing.

"Hi, Quinn?" she snaps.

"Hi… Who is this?" Quinn asks.

Laurie rolls her eyes. "It's Laurie."

The line is quiet for a few seconds. "Laurie…." she trails off, sounding confused.

"Puck's girlfriend," she says.

"Oh," Quinn croaks. "I didn't know that Puck had a girlfriend."

Laurie glances around the hallway, basking in some sense of surprise and delight. It's kind of cool to get a jab like this at Puck's ex; to dangle him in front of Quinn's face and remind her that she's been replaced. "You don't read tabloids?" she asks, sounding a little more amused.

"No," Quinn responds simply. She sounds annoyed. Laurie loves it. "Is there a reason that you're calling me at 4 in the morning?"

"Oh, _I'm _sorry," Laurie apologizes with a fake pout. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes."

Laurie is quiet for a few seconds, and there's only a slight pang of guilt in her chest. She blinks a few times and takes a deep breath. "Right. Well, listen. Puck is drunk right now. I know, surprise, surprise. He's blowing chunks everywhere and I—"

"Why are you telling me this?" Quinn interrupts.

Laurie lets out a frustrated sigh. "I'm _telling _you this because I left the apartment. He doesn't want me there to take care of him."

"So?"

"So," Laurie breathes. "I'm still worried about him. He's, like, really drunk this time and I don't know how to handle it. I think you should just come make sure he's okay. I don't know, help him just get to bed or something."

"Wait…." Quinn almost giggles. She sounds amused. "You want me, ex-girlfriend of the guy that _you're _dating, to come take care of him because he's a sloppy drunk mess?"

"Listen, Fabray," Laurie snaps. "I'm not asking you to come fuck him. I'm saying that is Blood Alcohol Content is concerning to me and I need you to make sure he's not going to die. He won't let me come near him."

"And what makes you think he'll let _me _come near him?"

Laurie chuckles. "Oh please, Quinn. Don't make me say it." And she hangs up.

Whatever, it's out of her hands now. Quinn can show up or not, doesn't really matter to Laurie.

She's hoping that Quinn does show up, though, because she's worried about Puck.

* * *

"Noah," Quinn coos. She's wrapped around his body, smiling and replacing song lyrics with his name. "Noah talks to me, I laugh cause it's just so funny…."

He smiles and bends down to steal a kiss.

"Noah," she repeats. He can consciously feel his body being shaken by something. "Noah." Again. Her voice sounds almost… panicked. Why? "Noah."

He blinks his eyes open and they immediately connect with _hers. _This must still be a dream, so he doesn't respond to her. He just looks up at her with glassy eyes and a confused expression.

"Your breath wreaks," she says, yanking at his arm and pulling him up. She uses her body to brace his, supporting him completely, and wraps one of his arms around her neck for extra support. "Stop breathing on me. The smell is seriously going to make me hurl."

He's too drunk to understand what's going on. Quinn is dragging him to the bathroom—That's about all he knows. He can't find the brain function to actually _say _anything to her, but he wants her to slow down.

"Open your mouth," she orders.

He's sitting on the toilet and she's holding a toothbrush with paste on it. How the fuck did they get to the bathroom? He opens his mouth, confused, and furrows his brow when Quinn uses her fingers to move his lips and expose his teeth. She presses the toothbrush to the top row of teeth and scrubs for a minute, repeating the process for the bottom row.

"Go Ahhhhh," she says, sticking out her tongue.

He does as he's told. She scrubs his tongue.

She walks past him and turns the shower on. Without saying a word, she turns back to him and starts peeling off his clothes. First his vomit-stained T-shirt, then his sweats, his underwear and his tank. They're tossed into the corner before she's hoisting him up again. His naked body is leaning full into hers, and she needs to bend her back to support him.

"Step into the shower," she says. He wobbles his way under the water with her help. She sticks a hand under the showerhead and says, "Sorry, that's too hot. I'll turn it down." Her tiny hand turns the handle until the water is perfectly luke-warm.

She lets the water run over his body for a few minutes. In those few minutes, he works up the skill necessary to form complete sentences.

"Why did you come here?" he mutters in broken, drunk English.

"I heard that you needed help," she answers simply, scrubbing his mohawk with shampoo.

He hears her answer and doesn't quite understand _why._ Why is she helping him? She washes his body with soap and helps him out of the shower. Her hands work at patting him dry until the towel's soaked up every water droplet, and she leaves him sitting on the toilet seat to retrieve clean clothes. When she comes back with a white T-shirt and black sweats, she slips them onto his body. Somewhere in his mind, he hates himself for needing this kind of attention. She's dressing him like a _baby. _If he was more sober, he'd push her away. He can take care of himself.

It hasn't registered to him, still, that Quinn Fabray is in his apartment. It hasn't registered that _she _is taking care of him. Those are _her _hands helping him back to bed. That's _her _pulling the comforter up to tuck him in like a child. It won't register, either, until he's sober.

"I miss you," he grumbles from the bed.

"I know."

"I love you." He has no idea what he's saying.

"I know." Why won't she say anything else?

"Don't you love me too?" he's whining and slurring his words and the sober part of him hates himself.

"Go to sleep," is all she says.

He falls asleep before he can notice her curling up in the chair next to his bed. He doesn't see her wrap herself in a blanket and keeping an eye on him until she, too, falls asleep.


	22. Cold As You

**Author's Note: I got a request for another chapter tonight and I think I have another one in me! Apologies if this one is a little crappy—that last one took a lot out of me! Love you guys!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_You have a way of coming easily to me_

_And when you take, you take the very best of be_

_So I start a fight 'cause I need to feel something_

_And you do what you want 'cause I'm not what you wanted_

_Oh what a shame_

_What a rainy ending given to a perfect day_

_Just walk away_

_No use defending words that you will never say_

_Now that I'm sitting here thinking it through_

_I've never been anywhere cold as you_

* * *

She's been distant since New Year's. He exposed a very aggressive side of himself that night, and it posed as a bit of a turn-off. He is sorry—she can tell—but it's going to take a while to rebound after that one incident.

This is what happens when you're with somebody for long enough. This is what happens when you fall hard enough—fights happen. Pieces break. Scars are formed. She didn't expect it to be perfect forever, and she's in this relationship forever, but it's hard to know that their everlasting Valentine's Day is over. She should've seen it coming. All of the warning signs were there—Noah's resistance to any conversation that went beyond the surface, his drinking habits, his _career_… They've been bickering for a while now. She should've been bracing herself for hard times like this.

That's what makes strong relationships, though—Hard times. There's not one part of Quinn that's thinking of pulling away. She'll never leave him. She knows that. He's got a hold on her. He captivates her, in all of her brokenness. She'll spend the rest of her life picking up the pieces of her Noah and putting them back in place.

That's not to say that she doesn't have her own _moods_, though.

Oh, she has them.

Like today.

"Do you want something to eat?" Noah asks.

She's laying on her back, staring at the ceiling and writing Noah's name into her bare stomach with her index finger.

"I'm fine," she answers absentmindedly, thinking about New Year's Eve. He was so drunk.

Noah stares at her from the doorway for a while. She can feel his eyes on her, but she's choosing not to respond. She thinks about the number of drinks he tossed back, instead.

"How about a game?" he asked. "A board game. You like Monopoly. We can play that."

Quinn simply shakes her head at the ceiling. One, two, three shots of vodka, all playing back in her memory. "No thanks."

She can see Puck shift uncomfortably in her peripheral. "Okay, well… Do you want to do anything?"

"Noah, I'm fine. I do not need to be entertained," she snaps. She's beyond irritated at this point.  
"I was just asking," he responds sheepishly, and she hates him for sounding so sad. "I want to make sure you're not bored here."

She scoffs. "Because you've always been so concerned with my feelings."

"Excuse me?" he asks.

She finally turns her head towards him. "I'm saying that your concern with my feelings comes as a surprise," she explains. Shit, she's feisty today. "Seems like you've never cared about them before."

"That's not true. You know it's not." He sounds defeated. She feels bad, but stands her ground. Because she deserves to throw out a few good insults after the shit he's been putting her through.

"Oh?" she asks. "It's not true? Have you been around for the past couple of days or was that not you embarrassing me in front of everyone?"

"Quinn," he begs. "I said that I was sorry."

"Yeah, I heard you," she snaps, biting one of her nails like this conversation bores her.

He sighs, frustrated. "Stop being mad at me," he says nervously.

"I think that I'm perfectly entitled to a little anger, Noah Puckerman." She's not looking at him anymore, just messing with her fingernails.

"Please, babe, you need to learn to forget after you forgive."

Quinn pushes up on her hands and brings her knees to her chest. "Or what?"

"I need you to forgive me all the way, Quinn. We aren't going to work if you hold onto things like this. You shouldn't have said that I'm forgiven when, clearly, I'm not. We could've talked it out."

She's quiet for a while, letting his words roll over in her brain. He's really trying here. She should probably stop being such an asshole, but there's a lot of pent-up resentment and she's just not being herself. "Why don't you drink about it?" she finally asks. She regrets it immediately.

"Wow." Noah says.

"Noah," she says, her voice a lot softer. Her eyes are wide, horrified at what she's just said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it."

He's staring at the ceiling, running a hand through his mohawk and struggling to maintain composure. "Sounded like you meant it," he says, his voice full of hurt.

"I didn't. Noah, please. I'm sorry. I'm not myself today."

"We can hang out some other day," he says, staring at his feet and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I think we're both in bad moods now. I'll call you."

Quinn rolls her shirt in between two fingers. "I don't want to go," she squeaks. "I'm sorry."

"I think you should."

"I'm sorry, Noah."

"Yeah, me too."

* * *

He's heard the words a thousand times since she left.

_Why don't you drink about it? _

Like he is his father. Like his behavior has become so predictable, he has become such a train wreck, that _of course _he's going to get hammered. He's such a terrible boyfriend. He's lost all self control and dignity.

Like he is an alcoholic.

Like he is his father.

_Why don't you drink about it? _

He never expected Quinn to make him feel this way. Finn? Sure. Kitty? Hell yeah, she'd make him cry if given the chance. But Quinn? She's always been so patient and compassionate and…. Empathetic. The words don't matter as much as the person who said them. He values Quinn, and her thoughts and opinions so much, that her insulting him this way is like a punch in the gut. Perhaps he deserves it, after everything he's done wrong recently, but he's been working so hard to make things better again. Noah has exhausted himself gaining Quinn's emotional trust back, and he was pretty sure they were back on the right track. And then she says stuff like _Why don't you drink about it? _and sets them back ten steps. Does she even understand how badly those words hurt? Does she know how deeply they cut him?

She's called a thousand (okay, five) times since leaving. He's picked up zero times.

There are three voicemails on his machine, but he's not going to listen to them right now. He knows that she is sorry, and they will work it out eventually, but he needs time to be alone and think about what this fight means.

This fight means that Quinn can hurt him more than he's ever expected her too. He never thought it would be perfect, but he didn't know it would hurt like this.

It means that she has a temper, too.

It means that she holds grudges.

It means that she uses Noah's past against him.

It means that he's in a lot deeper than originally thought.

It means that Quinn could very easily decide to break him.

He's never thought of himself as _breakable_ until right now.

Is he supposed to protect himself or allow somebody with shaky hands to hold his glass heart?


	23. Sad Beautiful Tragic

**Author's Note: I'm really excited about this chapter, so I'm writing it earlier than most (which is good, because I have a girls' night with some friends planned). Glad you guys are enjoying! Things make an interesting turn in this chapter—One that I am sure you'll be excited/anxious about. More feedback, please!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_Time is taking its sweet time erasing you_

_And you've got your demons_

_And, darling, they all look like me_

'_Cause we had a beautiful, magic love affair_

_What a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair_

_Distance, Timing, Breakdown, Fighting, Silence_

_The train runs off its tracks_

_Kiss me, try to fix it_

_Could you just try to listen_

_Hang up, Give up_

_For the life of us we can't get back_

_What we had_

_A beautiful, magic love affair_

_What a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair_

* * *

She shouldn't have come here.

She shouldn't have jumped at the first opportunity to be near Noah. She shouldn't have picked up a phone call from an unidentified number. She shouldn't have left her forgiving, warm bed in the middle of the night and rushed to help Noah.

She shouldn't have tried to fix him again.

Now, here she is, awake at 7 A.M. the next morning, next to his bed and entirely shocked at her own actions. He's still asleep, and she's curled up in his armchair with two wide eyes on him. God, she's forgotten how handsome he is, even when he's sleeping. She watches his chest rise and fall with each breath and remembers the mornings she's wake up before him. Only, on those mornings, her body was tangled deliciously with his. She could hear each beat of his heart through the toned muscles in his chest. She could bend her neck and actually _watch _his heart beat in the hollow of his neck, and know that it beat for her.

Now, they're just two broken people who sleep in empty beds to match their empty hearts.

This is why she shouldn't have come here. Because, now, she's thinking. Thinking always gets her. She has to stop doing that. She has to stop thinking.

Just as she's thinking of slipping away, he blinks his eyes open. Her entire body freezes, and she stares at him with honest eyes. He grumbles at the hangover and turns his head to land on Quinn. She watches the confusion, the concern, the feeling wash over his face and must force herself to shove words past her trembling lips.

"Laurie called me last night and said you were, like, dangerously drunk. I came here because she didn't know what to do."

He's still confused. She knows he is. "I'm so confused," he confirms in a scratchy morning voice. God, that scratchy voice is so fucking _sexy. _

She sighs, frustrated. "I came here last night," she explains in a slower voice, twisting some hair around her slender index finger, "because Laurie didn't know if you were going to be okay, and you wouldn't let her take care of you. I found you passed out on the floor, brushed your teeth, showered you, changed your clothes and got you into bed." She's getting tired of explaining to him the goings-on of his life when he's drunk.

"You didn't have to come here," he says defensively. "You didn't have to take care of me. I would have been fine."

"You were passed out on the floor, Noah. You would've drowned in your own vomit."

He runs a hand over his face and starts to massage his temples. It's either frustration or a hangover-induced headache.

"There's advil and water on your night table. For the hangover."

He pulls his hands away from his temples and clenches them into fists. "I don't want advil and water from you. I didn't want you to come here and baby me. I wish you didn't come here," he snaps.

Her eyebrows knit together, and the anger is rising. "If you don't want people to treat you like a baby, then you shouldn't act like one," she says in an eerily calm voice.

"You're going to hold this over my head now," he says at the ceiling. "We were doing fine not talking to each other and staying _away_. You're going to use this against me now. I _have _to talk to you. I owe you some kind of respect now, because you rushed to my apartment and cleaned me up."

Quinn recoils in the chair and chews on the inside of her cheek. "Is that what you want?" she breaths. "You want to stay away from me forever?" She sounds so shocked when, really, this should come as no surprise.

He bolts up to a sitting position, his face painted with anger and frustration. "No. You," he says, pointing a finger at her. "That's what _you _want, Quinn. I've never wanted to stay away from you forever. _You _are the one who cut off all communication after the breakup. I reached out to you and tried to fix us, and _you _told me to stay away."

"I know."

"So what?" he asks. "So, now, you want to get back what we lost? Now that you feel like fixing things, I should be ready for you? How come it's up to you? Why do you call the shots, Quinn? Why is our relationship status up to you? I want a say in this."

"You can't force me to want you back," she squeaks. It's been a while since she's felt his anger.

"No, but I have to follow you and chase after you forever," he snaps back immediately. "You want me to take this day by day and hope that, maybe, today is a good day. You didn't love me yesterday but, maybe, you'll love me today. It's all a game to you, Quinn. You want me to chase you forever, but I'm tired. I'm so tired of the back-and-forth."

She straightens up in her chair. "This is _your _fault," she croaks through stinging tears. "It's _your _fault that we're like this."

"Fine. It's my fault," he says, like he doesn't agree 100%. She knows it's her fault, too. "Then, when you break up with me, stay away. I didn't want to lose you. I wish I didn't. But you need to let me be alone now. I can't get over you if you come back like this."

She's quiet for a few seconds, letting his words play back in her head and swallowing the lump in her throat.

And then it occurs to her.

"I don't want you to get over me."

* * *

He doesn't know what he expected to happen this morning, but he never expected to wake up and see Quinn's face. He never expected to actually _talk _to her. He didn't think they would let the brokenness unfold and relive it play-by-play.

He definitely didn't expect to make love to her.

Both of them are unsure of how they got from _I don't want you to get over me_ to being in bed together, but that's where they are. Noah doesn't remember standing from the bed after she spoke those words. He doesn't remember slowly walking to the chair and scooping her up in the bridal position. He doesn't remember taking her lips in that moment and letting go of all inhibition. Because, after she said those words—_I don't want you to get over me_—He stopped thinking.

They both did.

He gingerly lays her down on the bed, crawling up her body and leaving a trail of kisses on his way to her neck. That's his favorite spot—the hollow of her neck, where he's loved watching her heart beat for him. He pays special attention to that spot, burying his nose into her skin and inhaling a scent that is uniquely Quinn's.

He needs to re-learn her body and memorize it because, tomorrow, she could float away again. She can decide (again), whenever she wants, that this is not what she wants. This lovemaking could be their last. Again.

Their kisses are careful and fragile. There are unspoken words with every clench of Quinn's grip on his toned arms. Every time Noah bends his neck to kiss Quinn's skin, it's a silent apology.

And they both feel it. They both feel the undeniable desire to change things. They both feel the passion suffocating them and breaking them all over again, but it's too late to stop it.

Because, sometimes, drowning isn't a bad thing.

He doesn't know what the future holds for their love but, right now, his true love is giving herself to him. He's missed her presence. He's missed feeling her like this.

This is so wrong, but it's too right.


	24. Tell Me Why

**Author's Note: Wow! You guys are spoiling me with all the awesome feedback in the past couple of days! I love it! ****Quick1329 asked about the "glass heart" metaphor—It **_**is **_**entirely my own. Thank you for the awesome reviews! Another guest reviewer asked if I've given reason for the breakup yet and, ultimately, the answer is no. The chapters leading up to it are all part of their reasons to breakup, but there is **_**one **_**huge reason that has not yet been revealed (however, if you go back and read some previous chapters, there are context clues). I want the progression of their relationship, both in the past and present chapters, to be realistically paced. So I know that you guys are dying to know what happens—and I'm dying to write it—but I'm writing the major events of their relationship as I picture them happening. Not everything happens at once, so just be patient! Hopefully, when the story is finished, the wait will be worth it. There will be 39 chapters total, plus an Epilogue. Also: I know that some of you are not Taylor Swift fans, but listening to the respective songs before reading a chapter will set the tone for you. I listen to them (like, **_**really **_**listen a few times) before writing anything! I love you guys for keeping me motivated. Check out the poll on my Author's Page and keep reading! Love you all!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_You could write a book on how to ruin someone's perfect day_

_I get so confused and frustrated_

_Forget what I'm trying to say_

_I'm sick and tired of your attitude_

_Of feeling like I don't know you_

_You tell me that you want me then cut me down_

_I'm sick and tired of your reasons_

_I've got no one to believe in_

_You ask me for my love then you push me around_

_Here's to you and your temper_

_Yes, I remember what you said last night_

_And I know that you see what you're doing to me_

_Tell me why_

* * *

It's mostly fighting now.

Ever since the wake of New Year's, which was six weeks ago, they fight about everything. They're big fights, too, not the harmless bickering that used to be the most of their worries. It's become a routine for them: Fight, spend some time apart, act like nothing happened, tension, fight. They're too tired to talk things through anymore, so they scream and yell at each other and then decide to ignore what's really happened. After an argument, they move on without talking about how to grow from the disagreement. Neither of them expects an apology anymore. Their lack of communication has caused immense tension because, even if act fine, words hurt. Each fight is worse than the last one, because the wounds are still fresh and new.

Noah and Quinn aren't happy anymore. They're just exhausted. They are exhausting each other.

She knew that there would be fights, but she's never imagined feeling this distant from him.

Hopefully, today will be a better day. She's excited to see him and share the news about her promotion at _Rolling Stone_. She couldn't be more pleased with herself, and there's nobody else she'd rather share this excitement with. The anxiousness has reached her toes by the time she gets to his apartment that night, and she's practically shaking with anticipation.

"I got a promotion at work," she says after a hello kiss, her voice shaky with excitement. She's so proud of herself, and Noah will be proud too. She just knows it.

"Really?" he says, engrossed in his phone. "That's cool."

Quinn's brow furrows and she watches as he doesn't react. His _That's cool _sounded like a struggle enough. What is so interesting on his phone? "I have my own office," she continues a bit more hesitantly, setting her coat down on the counter.

Noah still doesn't look up from his phone. His thumbs are busy typing away. "Mmm," is his only response to Quinn.

She huffs, trying to sound frustrated instead of completely heartbroken. She was sure he'd be proud of her. "What is so interesting on your phone that you can't at least _pretend _to be excited for me?"

"Nothing, Quinn," he growls, tearing his eyes away to look at her. Boy, what a struggle, looking up from your phone. "I am excited for you. The world does not revolve around you." At that, his eyes go right back to the phone.

Now she's suspicious. She narrows her eyes and chews on the inside of her cheek. "Who are you talking to?"

"I'm not talking to anybody."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?" she asks. "Do you think I'm a moron? You're clearly talking to _somebody_."

He lets out an annoyed breath and glares up at Quinn. " It's Kitty, okay?," he snaps, dropping his hands in his lap. "I'm talking to Kitty."

Quinn's mouth hangs open and she lets the salt effectively work its way into her wound before speaking. "Kitty?" she repeats, sounding squeaky and defeated. "Why are you talking to her?"

"Why do I need to tell you my whole life?" he sneers, his jaw clenching.

The lump in her throat will not go away, no matter how many times she swallows. "Can't you just tell me what you guys are talking about?" She trusts him, she knows she does, but…. Kitty? Really?

"Oh my god," he curses, like Quinn's questions are that much of an inconvenience. "We're talking about the tour. Can you stop asking so many damn questions now?"

She's used to him being so cold, but it still hurts. He used to be terrified of talking to her like this. "What tour? You never told me about a tour."

"I guess that's a no. Look, Quinn, I was going to tell you about it when you weren't being so fucking annoying. Our manager booked us for a radio tour in twenty cities. It's promotional. So that we can get our name out there enough to sell more albums."

This comes as a shock. Twenty cities? How long has he known about this?

She shifts awkwardly on her feet and feels her body go numb. "Why are you talking to Kitty about it?" She knows that she's being psychotic—Noah would never cheat on her but, after Russell's affair, she can't fully trust anyone.

Noah's tongue presses hard into his cheek. He's getting visibly angrier. "You're annoying me right now," he mutters in a voice that suggests he's holding back a lot more anger. "She's coming on tour with us. _That's _why. I need to coordinate schedules with her so that she knows when to take off from work."

Quinn is still unsure of the whole Kitty thing but, clearly, Noah is having none of it. She can't talk to him about it, so she decides to ask other questions instead. "How long will you be gone?"

"Six weeks," he says casually at his phone, which he's staring at again. She's tempted to reach forward, grab is phone, and snap it in half.

"When are you leaving?" she asks instead.  
It takes a second for him to answer, because he's distracted by whatever he's writing to Kitty. There's a faint smirk on his face that's obviously not directed at Quinn, and it turns her stomach. "Tuesday," he says finally.

Tuesday.

Today is Friday.

Noah is leaving Quinn for six weeks. In four days.

She wants to cry right there. She'd like to break down with him, wrapped in each other's arms. Because how are they supposed to live without each other for six weeks? What will she have to look forward to? How long has he known about this? Is she supposed to trust that everything will be okay if _Kitty _is around her true love more often than she is? Her birthday is in two weeks. How long has he known about this? Will he be there to celebrate with her? What if he has another nightmare and Quinn isn't there to comfort him? How long has he known about this? Is he going to be drinking alcohol? Is Quinn supposed to fall asleep without Noah singing to her in her favorite scratchy voice? Can they make up and be happy again before he goes back? _How long has he known about this?_

All of these questions are reeling in her brain, making it impossible to think straight, and she's pretty sure she's about to throw up. There's a ringing in her ears, the tips of her fingers are on fire, she can _hear _her heartbeat, and her legs are frozen still.

"How long have you known about this?" she croaks through tears.

"I don't know, Quinn, a couple of weeks?" he huffs. Unaffected. Unmoved. Uncaring.

A couple of weeks.

She turns away from him and walks to the bedroom, because she's not getting anything from Noah in this moment. He's unconcerned about her obvious heartbreak—either that, or he's too distracted by Kitty to notice Quinn's sadness. Instead of finding warmth and healing in his arms, she curls up in his bed and cries herself to sleep.

* * *

God, they're always fighting.

Noah's so fucking sick of it. He's tired of having to constantly explain himself to Quinn. He's tired of being held on such a short leash. He misses not having to answer to anyone. He misses not caring about anybody's feelings but his own. Now he's stuck considering Quinn and _her _feelings all the time, even when he'd like to just let go. She's always mad at him about something. He seriously can't do _anything _right, and so he's just stopped trying. She wants to get mad at him constantly? Fine. He'll give her _real _reasons to be mad. And then, when he feels bad for being such a douche, she purposely hurts him. It's a constant back and forth. There's so much friction and tension, and he's exhausted. They're both exhausted.

"Quinn," he mumbles into her shoulder, trying to shake her awake after the fight. Her face is red and blotchy from crying and, no matter how much they get on each other's nerves, he'll always feel terrible for making her cry. "Quinn, wake up."

She blinks her perfect, hazel eyes open and they land on his. Apparently, she remembers the fight right away, because she shakes off his hands and glares at him. "Could you learn to put your fucking clothes away?" she snaps. "I had to climb over your laundry. You're a pig."

Noah blinks a few times and chomps on the inside of his cheek. He _was _going to make nice, but now he's annoyed all over again. He springs from the bed and over to the dresser, pulling out Quinn's drawer and dumping her clothes all over the bedroom floor.

"Newsflash, Princess: You don't _live _here. This is _my _apartment," he screams, throwing her clothes everywhere. "You have a problem with it, you know where the door is."

Quinn sits up in bed and stares at her clothes strewn about, her eyes wide with horror. God, he wishes she didn't have the ability to make him feel like shit with _one _facial expression. He seriously hates making her look so sad, but he's gotten used to standing his ground and ignoring the guilt. No. Nobody tells Noah _fucking_ Puckerman what to do. Instead of getting up and gathering her belongings, screaming at Puck or crying, Quinn simply sinks back into the bed. She curls up again, facing the wall, and lets out a dejected sigh before willing herself to sleep again.

Because she's too exhausted to fight anymore. Noah realizes how much that speaks for their relationship as a whole. He's standing, frozen in the middle of his bedroom and surrounded by her clothes, feeling like an idiot. After letting the punch _really _hit him for a moment, he bends down and begins gathering her clothes. He folds them neatly and places them back in her dresser drawer. Because he doesn't _really _want her to leave. Ever. He'll never want that.

What have they become?

Noah crawls into bed once the clothes are all put away. He doesn't know if they'll ever be happy again, but he _does _know that they can't live without each other. His strong arms reach out for her and pull her close, his front to her back and their bodies molding perfectly together.

They'll always fit together perfectly, even when they don't.


	25. Forever and Always

**Author's Note: Wow! It seems that every chapter I write gets more reviews than the last. I was refreshing my e-mail all evening yesterday to receive more awesome feedback/reviews. Keep in mind that it's tough for me to post a chapter daily, so writing multiple chapters in one day is even harder. I love that you guys are anxious to read more, but just bear in mind that I tailor my writing around the rest of my life (i.e. school/work/friends/family/pets/etc.). You don't have to worry about me abandoning this fic, because I'm so in love with/invested in it, but I can't always update as often as I have been (especially once I go back to college). All of your questions will be answered as the story progresses, things will play themselves out, and you will survive the waiting—I have great things planned for this story! I love you all! More feedback always makes my day more than you know. **

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_Was I out of line_

_Did I say something way too honest_

_Made you run and hide like a scared little boy_

_I looked into your eyes_

_Thought I knew you for a minute_

_Now I'm not so sure_

_So here's to everything coming down to nothing_

_Here's to silence that cuts me to the core_

_Where is this going_

_Thought I knew for a minute but I don't anymore_

_And I stare at the phone, he still hasn't called_

_And then you feel so low you can't feel nothing at all_

_And you flashback to when he said forever and always_

_And it rains in your bedroom_

_Everything is wrong_

_It rains when you're here and it rains when you're gone_

'_Cause I was there when you said forever and always_

_You didn't mean it baby_

_Back up, baby, back up_

_Did you forget everything?_

* * *

"We shouldn't have done this," laying next to him and tracing the word _Sorry _into his bare chest.

There's a trail of goosebumps where his fingers trail over her naked body. "I know," he breathes out, barely audible.

They shouldn't have done it but, then, they should have.

"I shouldn't have come here," she says after a long quiet.

"No," he agrees. "You shouldn't have."

They shouldn't be laying together but, then, they should be. And they're not moving.

"I have a boyfriend. You have a girlfriend."

She's sorry but, then, she's not.

He doesn't answer her this time. The silence is slicing her entire existence and screaming in her head. Their night, their affair, their _everything _is reeling in her head and she can't let it go. God, why won't he just _say something_?

She accepts the fact that he, in fact, has no response and decides to ask another question. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"You're supposed to leave me," he answers at the ceiling. Are those tears in his eyes? Noah doesn't cry. Is he, though? "You're supposed to leave me, and we're supposed to spend another forever trying to get over this."

_Another_ forever.

Because, really, it's been forever already.

She blinks her eyes shut and imagines leaving him again. It's just as hard to imagine. "You want me to leave?" she squeaks.

He sighs and presses his fingers into her skin with more pressure. She's not sure if he's aware of the pressure; it seems to be an instinctive thing that he does when he grows afraid of her leaving. "No," he croaks. "But you're going to. When you figure out that I'm not better. This time apart has done nothing but make me worse than I was before. I'm going to treat you like shit, and I don't want to, but it's in my nature. I can't stop, you know, and I'd rather watch you leave now before I fall again."

She knows that he's right. But does she?

It's time for her to stop trying to force two puzzle pieces together, in her brain or otherwise. Over time, the pieces are weathered and broken and changed until they are entirely _different _puzzle pieces. It's not right to force them together when, clearly, they no longer fit.

But they do. Oh, they do.

Quinn and Puck are two puzzle pieces that will _always _fit together.

This is denial. All over again.

She leaves him again that afternoon, after slipping her clothes back on and struggling through five last kisses.

She curls up on the couch that evening and pretends to watch television when, really, her eyes are glued to her phone. Because he'll call. She knows he'll call. They both know that their relationship will never see its end. Right? He knows that, right? He'll call.

One hour goes by, no phone call.

Another two hours, no call.

Five hours go by before she's convinced that it's over. Again. She's experienced all stages of grief in those five hours. Again.

Why doesn't he call? He will. He will.

Why hasn't he called? She's never been so angry.

Maybe he's waiting by _his _phone waiting for _her _phone call.

He still hasn't called. She's slipped back into depression.

He won't call. Ever. She's accepted it.

Her phone rings. It's Riley.

"I slept with Noah," she says, ignoring everything her mother taught her about manners and greeting somebody with _hello. _Her scalp is prickling, her mouth is dry and she's shaking. Because she was _sure _that Noah was the one ringing her phone. Because she can't believe that she is admitting to being a cheater right now. Because she hates herself for being in love with Noah, and not with Riley. Because she knows that Riley's heart is about to break. "I slept with him, and I loved it. And I love him. And you know what, Riley? I love you, too. But I'm not _in_ love with you. We don't fit together, you and me. And Noah doesn't fit into this equation anymore, either. I'll never be with him again. But, maybe, someday I can be with somebody who fits a little bit better. And I don't think it's fair for you to be with somebody who isn't in love with you. I know you, and I know that you'd forgive me if I begged and pleaded enough. Because this is just a _phase _that I'm going through since breaking up with Noah. Because if you just stick around long enough, I'll fall in love with you. And I love you for that. I love you for wanting to be my one. But I'm not _in love _with you for it. And I can't let you be with me because I'm going to drag you down. I can't let you be with me, because I will never be in love with you. And I see the way you look at me. You're not in love with me either. Saying words like that—words like 'I love you'—has absolutely _nothing _to do with _meaning _it, and I think we should stop pretending. I don't know if I'm ever going to be in love again, but you should have a chance. I'm not that chance, Riley. And I'm so, so sorry."

Pause. One _full _minute of silence.

"Quinn, I—"

_Click. _

* * *

Noah's been staring at the phone for five hours.

Why hasn't she called?

* * *

**Author's Note: I don't usually put ANs at the end of a chapter, but I'd like to know if you guys would be interested in a Ustream with me? It might be fun for me to show my face and actually **_**talk **_**to some of you. We could talk about fics/how to improve my writing/your ideas for my fics/things you want me to write. I don't know if it's conceited for me to assume that you'd like to watch me on Ustream, so that's why I'm asking! Let me know!**


	26. Come Back Be Here

**Author's Note: So sorry that this chapter wasn't up earlier! I dyed (blonde and pink and purple) my hair today and it took, like, five hours because I had to bleach it first and then let the color develop. Not sure why that's important but it might explain the delay! Also, for those of you who are concerned, **_**my **_**Winter break doesn't end until January 22****nd****, which isn't for a few weeks. I have more time to post frequently! This chapter is short (again, so sorry) because I feel kind of sick (and also because I'm not sure how much there is to write about this part of their story). I'm sorry sorry sorry! I need to sleep off whatever bug this is and see if I feel better tomorrow. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_Taxicabs and busy streets that never bring you back to me_

_I can't help but wish you took me with you_

_And this is when the feeling sinks in_

_I don't want to miss you like this_

_Come back… Be here_

_Come back… Be here_

_I guess you're in London today_

_I don't want to need you this way_

_Come back… Be here_

_Come back… Be here _

_This is falling in love in the cruelest way_

_This is falling for you and you are worlds away_

_New York, be here_

_But you're in London_

_And I break down_

'_Cause it's not fair that you're not around_

…_Come back… Be here_

* * *

"Don't go," she asks again, even though she's fully aware that begging won't work. It didn't work last week, it didn't work last night, and it's not going to work right now. Noah is going away for six weeks.

Six weeks without her Noah.

He lets out a strangled sigh and pulls her closer, his fingers lacing around her waist and resting at the small of her back. Their bodies fit together more perfectly than ever. "I don't want to go," he says. "I don't want to leave you, but this will be really good for my career."

Quinn presses her lips to his chest and inhales his scent. "I'd go with you. I wish I could go with you."

"I know, baby," he breathes, silencing her with a forehead kiss. His lips stay pressed to Quinn's skin and he sucks in a huge breath, and she can feel their time running out. He's leaving soon. "Someday, I'll be able to buy you all the stupid makeup and girly products that you could ever want. That's when this will be worth it."

She giggles into his shirt and sniffs back threatening tears. "I don't want all that stuff. I just want you."

"I'm visiting overnight for your birthday, okay?" he comforts. "And then, after that, it's only a few more weeks. Six weeks is nothing."

Six weeks sure seems like a lot. Six weeks seems like forever when it's spent without your one love. "I'm sorry about all the fighting," she sighs.

"No, don't apologize," he says. "_I'm _sorry."

Both of them glace up at the airport ceiling when a monotone voice announces the last call for Noah's departing flight. They look at each other and frown, because this is it. Quinn's eyes well up and she immediately feels anxious. Her head is shaking at him in a silent plea to stay. _Just one more day. Please stay. _Puck bends his neck and presses a kiss to her nose, then hungrily takes her lips for a panic-stricken goodbye kiss. After exchanging _I love you_s, he forces his body away from hers, turns slowly and walks away from her.

It's only for six weeks.

Six weeks.

* * *

Walking away from Quinn is hard.

Walking away from Quinn for _six weeks _is harder.

Walking away from Quinn for six weeks, after the past few weeks they've had, is the hardest.

He should've been treating her better. He carries regret with him to the airport, boarding his flight, all the way to California. He carries guilt to the band's hotel, right to the hotel bed. Because he's too emotionally drained to do anything but _sleep _once they arrive.

God, he hates himself. Why'd he have to be such a fucking dick to Quinn? He thinks of her patience, and her willingness to stand by him, and wonders where people like that come from. How is she so forgiving? Her goodness scares him.

Leaving for this tour would've been, in a sense, a lot easier if they hadn't become so distant. Without all of the fighting, they'd be just as in love. Noah feels like he's leaving with so many open ends. So many unanswered questions, so many unhealed scars, so many tedious worries.

So much distance.

The past couple of days have been better. Noah's been treating Quinn better, Quinn is being more patient, and they've been quietly holding onto their time left together before his tour. Now it's over, though, and Puck realizes that they haven't actually _spoken _about their problems. Both of them flew to panic mode when they realized their limited time. Communication is still lacking in a huge way.

Noah wonders if this will make things worse.

Because they should've talked about things.

So much regret. He wishes he was different.

He wishes that he wasn't so much like his father.

This six weeks will be the biggest test.


	27. Innocent

**Author's Note: I ruined my streak yesterday by not publishing a chapter. Sorry! My best friend is visiting from Africa and I wanted to spend time with her before she goes back next week. I love writing this story, but my personal life/relationships have to come first! I'll be in Washington DC tomorrow through the 13****th****, so I'll be spending the nine hour car ride compiling chapters to post while I'm there. Meanwhile, here's another chapter for ya'll. I had a genius idea for this story last night, so stay tuned for a fun plot twist! As always, feedback is just lovely. Love you!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_It's alright_

_Just wait and see_

_Your string of lights is still bright to me_

_Who you are is not where you've been_

_You're still an innocent_

_It's okay_

_Life is a tough crowd_

_Thirty-two and still growing up now_

_Who you are is not what you did_

_Time turns flames to embers_

_You'll have new Septembers_

_Every one of us has messed up too_

_Minds change like the weather_

_I hope you'll remember_

_Today is never too late to be brand new_

* * *

Everybody always talks about _forgive and forget, _but very rarely do they actually do either of those things. More often than not, grudges are held, people stay angry, and wounds stay fresh. Quinn's been angry for the past few months. Since seeing and sleeping with Noah the other day, since they've ended things for a second time, since she's had to let go of him again; She's realized that, maybe, it's a good idea to move on. Not "move on" and ignore Noah while _not _ignoring Noah—Not "move on" and continue to feel conflicted—but actually _Move on. _She's realized that she can, in fact, accept the fact that she will always love Noah without needing to be with him. It's a refreshing, exciting realization. Maybe that night with Noah is what she needed to accept the fact that they will _never _work again. Maybe she needed to end things with Riley to feel the fresh start she's been waiting for. Either way, she's ready to stop being angry. She's ready to stop being sad, and she's certainly ready to stop depending on other people for her own happiness. She'll never know some things about Noah so, instead of trying to figure him out, she's labeling him as a learning experience. Their whole relationship, everything they went through, all those times that she cried over him—It was all a learning experience. An opportunity to grow. And _grow, _she has. This has been a healthy three days.

Tonight, she's doing Insanity in her bedroom. That's change number one: instead of using her free time to mope and cry over Noah, she's exercising and getting in shape (as if her body isn't perfect enough). She's about to pass out when she overhears Brittany and Santana in the living room.

"I don't think we should go," Brittany murmurs. "Quinn cries a lot lately, and it makes that vein in her forehead look like it's going to explode. If we go, she'll cry, and there's always that chance that her head could _actually _combust."

"When did you learn the word _combust_?" Santana asks.

"Lord Tubbington taught me after he learned it from the back of a cereal box."

Santana lets out a content sigh. She loves Brittany's stories. "Frankly, I want to go. I'm not going to waste a perfect opportunity to get dressed up because Fabray is wallowing. Their breakup has nothing to do with me."

"I know," Brittany says. "But we're her friends…Well, _I'm _her friend. I'd just feel bad."

At this point, Quinn has stopped doing Insanity altogether. She's ignoring the throbbing in her legs and allowing her heart rate to slow down before leaving her room to bound down the stairs and into the living room.

"What are you guys talking about? You don't want to go to what, Brittany?" she huffs curiously, dabbing her forehead with a sweat rag.

Santana's grossed out by her sweat. Her lips curl up and she rolls her eyes. "The three of us got invited as VIPs to a _Courage 2.0 _concert," she explains. "And _Brittany _here is all worried about going and hurting your feelings. To be honest, I couldn't care less than I do right now. I wants to get my dance on."

Quinn's eyebrows knit together and she looks at Brittany, whose expression is _very _guilty. Bless her heart. "Why would they invite me?" she wonders out loud. She and Noah have been broken up for months. It's his management team, not him, that has invited him. She knows that, because he has a management team now, but still…. _Everybody _knows about the breakup.

"They probably want you to go so that tabloids have something to write about," Brittany says. "If you go to his concert, it might look like you guys are back together. It's all for publicity."

It's the first relatively sensible thing Quinn's ever heard Brittany say. She is genuinely impressed. "Okay, that makes sense," Quinn starts, thinking of the explanation again. "But why would they invite _you_ guys?"

"Brittany and I have been in just as many tabloids as you, Blondie," Santana says. "We went everywhere with you and, after the breakup, it was impossible to avoid those assholes with cameras. People know us by association."

Santana sounds jealous. She's always wanted to be famous for a _reason, _not by association. Quinn's never wanted to be famous, so there's that. "We should go," she says after thinking for a few moments. "It'll be fun."

Brittana looks stunned. "You want to go to the concert?" Brittany breaks the silence. "You know that Puckerman will be there, right?"

Quinn giggles and shifts awkwardly on her feet. "Yes, I know that Puckerman will be there. I'm done being angry and avoiding him. Let's not waste a fun night because of my messy breakup. I'll be fine."

"What about the tabloids?" Santana cuts in. "The paparazzi situation was just dying down. You sure you want to deal with that again?"

"People are going to think what they want," Quinn says, tucking some hair behind her ear. "Noah and I know that we aren't together. We know that we'll _never _be together, so an article about how we _are_ won't really change anything."

Santana and Brittany still look surprised, but they're too excited about the VIP experience to argue further.

So it's settled.

Quinn Fabray is ready to face her favorite demon, Noah Puckerman.

* * *

"I cheated on you," Noah says. Talk about Déjà vu.

Laurie snorts. "Yeah, I know you did. Took you long enough to finally admit it."

His head snaps around and he stares at her with a puzzled expression. "You know? How do you know?"

"Oh please," Laurie sneers. "It was _so _obvious after Quinn left. You looked like you had really bad gas or something."

"So you know that I cheated on you with my ex-girlfriend and you're still with me?" Puck asks. He's never been so confused.

Laurie considers this. "We're not really _together _anymore, are we? We haven't had sex since you cheated on me, and that was the only thing we did together anyways."

Noah chews on the inside of his cheek. What is going on? He hasn't even realized that they haven't been fucking. "How come you're not, like, pissed off and psycho and throwing things?" he asks. "And why do you still come over all the time?"

"Well," Laurie chuckles. "You have awesome booze here. That's one upside to being ridiculously famous: The delicious liquor."

"So we broke up without me even knowing, but you still hang out with me— even though I cheated on you— because I have high-quality alcohol? Why aren't you angry?"

Laurie cocks her head to one side and lets out a frustrated sigh. Noah can tell that she's about to talk about _feelings, _which she hates just as much as he does. That's why she's getting annoyed. "Listen, Puck. If we're going to be honest, I dated you for the fame. I like attention. Fucking you was the easiest way to get people to know my name. And you can wipe that judgmental look off your sexy face, because you don't know about my childhood."

Noah realizes that he's scowling at her, completely disgusted, and forces himself to look indifferent. He lets her explain further.

"I didn't really have a _bad _childhood, I guess, but I was ignored a lot. My parents _never _paid attention to me, no matter how awesome I did in school or how many sports I played. So I'm making up for it now. I'm getting the attention I've always wanted by dating today's boy-band-bad-boy…. Well, I _was, _but… We're not dating anymore."

Laurie's smarter than Puck gave her credit for. He doesn't mind being used by her, because their relationship never really meant anything to him. "So why do you still hang around here?" he asks. "I mean, you got the fame that you wanted. Why don't you forget about me now? And don't say it's for the booze."

Laurie lets out another sigh. "I think you're kind of a cool dude when you're not fucking me or cursing me out. I mean, I'd never actually be in a relationship with you. You're too high maintenance for me. But… You know, I think we could both use some kind of continuity in our lives. I'm not going to leave your life because you're an idiot. I knew you were an idiot going in. Can't act surprised that you cheated on me. You know… with your track record."

This is, like, the easiest, weirdest breakup ever. Noah's still confused. "So… we're _friends?_" he asks with a dopey expression.

"Whoa," Laurie snaps, holding up a hand. "I don't _have _friends… But I guess we're pretty close." Noah nods in understanding. "And, as your almost-friend, I'm telling you to get off your ass and stop ignoring your feelings for Quinn."

"Excuse me?" Puck says, his eyebrows raising in concern. He's more than a little shocked that his most recent ex-girlfriend is encouraging him to go after Quinn.

"Quit being a moron. The whole _world _knows that you guys are still in love. Waiting for you to get back together is getting super boring."

"We're not getting back together," Puck interrupts. "I mean, we can't."

Laurie purses her lips and shakes her head. "And why not, Puckerman? Why can't you get back together with your soul mate?"

Noah _hates _talking about this more than anything. "Things got really messed up between us. A lot of it was my fault. I just don't think we fit together the way we did."

"You don't fit?"

"Yeah," he explains. "You know, we won't work anymore. The feelings are gone because I ruined everything."

"Are you an idiot?" Laurie asks. It sounds too similar to something Quinn would ask, and Puck is momentarily spooked. "The feelings aren't _gone _because you royally fucked things up, Noah. Your relationship is seriously damaged, and maybe you guys will never be the same together, but the feelings aren't _gone_. You can't just lose something like that. I may have been your rebound, but I'm not blind. I saw how you guys felt about each other. The whole world did, and we all watched your relationship grow and then break. Everybody thought you were a huge douche bag for a while, and I'm pretty sure you've been on everyone's hitlist, but now the world has moved onto wanting you two back together. So I'm not sure what the problem is here. If everybody else can forgive you, why can't you forgive _yourself_?"

"It's not that easy," Puck argues weakly, ignoring the fact that Laurie is making total sense. "I'm going to mess up again, and she's going to leave me again."

Laurie rolls her eyes. "So _don't _mess up like that again. Yeah, you're going to fuck up sometimes, but don't pull shit like that again. I know you've been through a lot, you know with your father or whatever, but be a man and learn how to control your own decisions. Seriously, Noah, stop being such a fucking coward."

"I'm not a coward," Noah snaps angrily.

"Oh, you're not?" Laurie asks sarcastically. "Then why aren't you going after the _one _person you'll always need?"

"Because—" Noah starts, but he can't continue.

Laurie laughs at him. "Because you're scared."

"Fuck you, Laurie. I'm not scared."

"So you're going to get her back, then?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

Noah swallows. His mouth is awfully dry. "I'm going to get Quinn back."

"Awesome," Laurie chimes, a face-splitting grin painted from ear to ear. "I'll help you."


	28. The Moment I Knew

**Author's Note: Greetings from IhavenocluewhereIam! I've been in the car for about four hours now. I think it's a good idea for me to ease my boredom with some writing. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_He said he'd be here_

_And it was like slow motion_

_Standing there in my party dress_

_In red lipstick_

_With no one to impress_

_And they're all laughing_

_And asking me about you_

_And there was one thing missing_

_And that was the moment I knew_

* * *

"Happy birthday!" Brittany squeals.

Quinn's just gotten home from work. Santana and Brittany have decked out the apartment with streamers, balloons, rainbow lights and banners. There's a freshly baked Funfetti cake on the kitchen table, and the girls are dressed in fancy dresses. Quinn hasn't expected much for her birthday, just to see Noah, so this is a pleasant surprise.

"You guys are too sweet," she chirps, offering each of them a kiss on the cheek with a grin. "How come you're all dressed up? Are we going somewhere?"

"I wish," Santana whines, swiping some frosting onto her finger and into her mouth. "Brittany and I wanted an excuse to get dolled up and, since you don't like big parties _or _attention, we're having a formal party here. Just the three of us."

Quinn giggles at Santana's attitude. She's learned to embrace it since… Well, it's here to stay. "Noah should be here later tonight," she explained. "But there's plenty of time to party before then."

Brittany claps. "Go get your dress on! We chose a few from your closet and put them out on your bed."

Quinn smiles again, feeling grateful for her two best friends, and makes her way to the bedroom. There's three dresses laid out on the bed, but the one that catches Quinn's eye is her _lucky _dress. She been calling it that, because it's the one she wore to her first party with Puck. That's the dress she'll wear tonight. It still fits her like a glove, and she throws her hair up before painting her face with some blush and lipstick. Before retreating back to the living room, she shoots Noah a text message.

**TO MY NOAH**: what time r u gonna be here? wearing our favorite dress.

With her phone in hand, she returns to Brittany and Santana. She's feeling genuinely happy for the first time in a long time. Today's the perfect day: Her birthday, a small party with her best friends, her lucky dress, and reuniting with her Noah. She's missed him too much and, even though he's visiting for one night, their bodies will be close enough to touch. She'll be able to kiss his fucking face off before he goes away again, and that's all she cares about.

The Unholy Trinity shares some cake after a few off-key rounds of _Happy Birthday_, and Quinn is enjoying their party, but Noah still hasn't answered.

**TO MY NOAH**: hey, i miss u. did u get my text before?

It's time to open presents. Quinn, Brittany and Santana sit in a circle on the living room floor. Quinn receives her presents warmly and humbly, giving genuine thanks. They're the only reason this birthday isn't totally depressing right now. Most people get to spend birthdays with their families, but Quinn's learned that these girls _are _her family. But where is Noah?

**TO MY NOAH**: u r still coming, right?

Brittany and Santana clean up the apartment and insist that Quinn puts her feet up to watch TV and relax. She offers to help several times, withholding the fact that it may distract her from the extreme lack of _Noah _in this birthday. They actually force her to sit back, though, so she pretends to be interested in the Kardashians. A half hour later, she's tired of waiting for a response from Puck, so she gives him a call. He doesn't answer the first time, so she calls three more times.

"Hi," he growls into the phone, sounding beyond annoyed.

"Hey?" Quinn says, her eyebrows knit together. Why is he mad at her?

"You've called me four times in the past two minutes," he sneers.

There's a long pause, and Quinn wonders if maybe Puck forgot her birthday. "I just want to know what time you'll be here," she explains.

"Oh, fuck," he curses. She hears him sigh and can almost _see _him pinching the bridge of his nose. That's when it occurs to her that he has, indeed, forgotten her birthday. "Quinn, listen, I'm _really _sorry. I can't come back today."

Quinn's eyes snap shut, and she lets out a shaky sigh. She should have known that this day was too perfect to be true. "It's my birthday, Noah," she croaks into the phone.

"I know. I know," he replies. Yeah, he knows because she _just _reminded him. "I know, I'm sorry. Kitty thought that we could use more practice before the next city, and management thought it was a good idea. I'm stuck in Chicago."

"Since when is Kitty calling the shots?" Quinn asks, astonished. Noah's missing her birthday because of _Kitty_. She's getting so damn tired of that girl.

Noah lets out a frustrated sigh, like he has the right to be as frustrated as Quinn. "Listen, Q, I'm sorry. This isn't my fault. I can't fight about this right now. I have to go, but I'm sure you'll find time to bitch at me about it later."

Her jaw clenches, and she's chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Don't talk to me like that," she snaps.

"Whatever," he mumbles. "Happy birthday."

_Click. _He's hung up on her. She throws her phone into the nearest wall and feels unsatisfied when it doesn't break.

* * *

**FROM QUINN**: i hate kit ty

**TO QUINN: **_yeah I know._

**FROM QUINN: **sshe ruinesed my birthdsya

**TO QUINN: **r u drunk?

**FROM QUINN: **it smy birthdsy and ill get drunk i/f d I wioant 2

**TO QUINN: **r u safe? who is with u?

**FROM QUINN: **mamayeb maybe not. liek u even crae

Shit.

He calls her once, no answer.

Second time, no answer.

Santana answers her phone the third time.

"What _is _it, jewhole?" she greets angrily. "I'm kind of busy dealing with your sloppy drunk girlfriend."

Noah's mouth hangs open. "So she's safe? You're with her, right?"

Santana chuckles humorlessly. "Did I fucking _stutter_? Yeah, I'm with her. She's currently on the bathroom floor, and I've taken away her phone privileges. You're going to have to talk to her tomorrow."

"Just take care of her okay?" he asks nervously.

"Excuse me, Puckerman, but I don't think you're in any place to tell _me _about Quinn's wellbeing. She didn't throw up on _your _shoes after getting shitfaced because her asshole boyfriend forgot her birthday. You're not holding her hair back while she vomits her self-pity into the toilet."

Noah's anger is rising. He can't handle Santana's honesty. "It's not my fault," he argues.

Santana cuts him off. "Save it. Seriously, Noah, get your shit together and grow some balls. I'm so fucking tired of hearing Quinn complain about the same shit all the time. I swear to God, if you make her cry again, I'll slice your face off and flush it down the toilet."

"Go to Hell," Noah growls.

"Fuck yourself."

_Click. _She's hung up on him. He throws his phone against the nearest wall and feels unsatisfied when it doesn't break.


	29. Haunted

**Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm glad that you're excited about the progress of this story. I'm **_**so **_**excited about these last chapters. You will not be happy about how short this chapter is. Honestly, neither am I, but writing is tough, because I'm reunited with my family and I want to spend time with them. I was asleep for most of the car ride because this slight illness of mine lingers, but I am around. Not to worry. I will not abandon this story!**

* * *

**PRESENT TENSE**

_You and I walk a fragile line_

_I have known it all this time_

_But I never thought I'd live to see it break_

_It's getting dark and it's all too quiet_

_And I can't trust anything now_

_And it's coming over you like it's all a big mistake_

_Oh, holding my breath_

_Won't lose you again_

_Something's made your eyes go cold_

* * *

She's over him, she really is, but she wasn't ever expecting a phone call. For all she knows, they've officially ended things since their last encounter. That's the way it was meant to be, right? Still: her phone is ringing, and Noah's picture is on the screen. God, that picture. That face.

"Hello…?" she hesitates, because _why _would he be calling her?

"Hi, Quinn," he greets.

She stays quiet for a while, glancing around the room for an answer with a furrowed brow. "Hi Noah…" she trails off. "Is everything okay?" Really, the only logical explanation for a phone call like this is sudden illness or, like, a death in the family.

"Everything is fine, but I'm just wondering if you're coming to the concert."

He's so casual. When did they even start talking to each other long enough to be casual? "I was thinking about it, yeah," she answers quietly. God, she's confused.

"That's good," he answers simply. The way he says it makes him think that, maybe, he's holding something back. Like the end of his sentence never really happened.

She chews on the inside of her cheek. "Okay," she squeaks.

"Great, see you there."

"Bye."

_Click._

Just like that, he's gone. Disconnected from the telephone and leaving Quinn entirely too confused. She's been planning on attending the concert but, honestly, never planned on even _talking _to him. Apparently, he has other plans.

This cannot be good.

She is simply _not _prepared for another cycle of Noah Puckerman. She's never really been prepared for him, but now she's immensely worried. She shouldn't go to this concert. She should steer clear of him because, honestly, his presence in her life continues to haunt her even when he's nowhere to be found. That's the way it's always been. She's always felt him, even when she didn't, so why is she subjecting herself to this kind of vulnerability again?

All of a sudden, she's braced for more heartbreak. She's ready to fold into herself again and let the sadness envelop her because, really, what else has Noah Puckerman offered to her life?

This cannot be good.

* * *

Noah Puckerman has big things planned for Quinn Fabray.


	30. The Last Time

**Author's Note: What's up, fuckers?! We're at THIRTY chapters—It's the home stretch! How cool is that? Sorry about the shortness of the last chapters, but I truly value your patience. Ya'll are so sweet for leaving good feedback anyways. More of that would be fantastic. See you later!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_You find yourself at my door_

_Just like all those times before_

_You wear your best apology_

_But I was there to watch you leave_

_And all those times I let you in_

_Just for you to do go again_

_Disappear when you come back_

_Everything is better_

_Right before your eyes_

_I'm aching_

_Run fast_

_Nowhere to hide_

_Just you and me_

_This is the last time I'm asking you this_

_Put my name at the top of your list_

_This is the last time I'm asking you why_

_You break my heart in the blink of an eye_

* * *

"Are you and Puck broken up?" Brittany asks. It comes out of the blue and breaks straight through the silence they've been respecting for the past few days.

Quinn isn't sure how to answer at first because, lately, she doesn't even know the answer to that question. "No," she answers hesitantly after serious consideration.

Brittany picks up on the confusion in Quinn's voice and mirrors it in her expression. "Well…" she trails off. "Are you _going _to break up with him?"

It's not Brittany's fault that she's so concerned, but Quinn lets out a frustrated sigh. "Brittany, I don't know," she snaps. "I haven't spoken to him since my birthday."

"You should talk to him," Britt replies sheepishly from the opposite couch. "Even if it ends badly. My mom and dad talk about things when they fight. Sometimes it doesn't end well. You know, my mom throws her shoes when she's angry. It makes her feel better, though. The talking, when it finally happens, not the shoe-throwing."

It occurs to Quinn that Judy and Russell, in fact, taught her the exact _opposite_. Through their treatment of each other, and the way they handled it, she'd has been conditioned to avoid confrontation. Maybe that's her problem. Maybe that's _their _problem. If she only had some more backbone, Noah wouldn't have broken her this way.

"I'll talk to him," Quinn answers soberly, her legs tucked against her chest.

Brittany nods her head and tries to gauge Quinn's mood. "You can talk to me, too," she offers honestly.

Quinn tears her eyes away from the television screen for the first time since their conversation started. She's been avoiding eye contact, because there is a glint of genuine concern and pure sympathy in Brittany's eyes that she simply cannot handle. One look at the girl, and it becomes clear (all over again) how very broken everything is. The tone of her voice when she offers a listening ear, though, demands attention.

"I know," she nearly whispers. "In fact, it's the one thing that I'm _really _sure of lately. And I really appreciate it, you know."

"What does that mean?" Brittany asks, her brow furrowed. "Appreciate?"

Quinn smiles and lets out a giggle. Brittany isn't smart but, oh, she is. "It means that I'm really glad we're friends, Britt."

"Oh. I'm glad, too."

"Good."

"No," Brittany stops. "You don't understand. I'm, like, really glad that we're friends. You don't talk to me like I'm stupid, even if that's what you're thinking. Santana's the only other person who does that."

Quinn shakes her head. "I don't think you're stupid. You're one of the smartest people I've ever met."

"Now you're lying," Brittany blushes. Her body language suggests that, perhaps, she is uncomfortable. It's not often that she receives a compliment on her level of intelligence. Maybe she doesn't know how to react. That makes Quinn sad.

"I don't lie. Brittany, people are smart in different ways. Lots of people are smart with numbers and words, but then there's people like you. You're smart with _love, _Brittany. That's a lot more important, if you ask me."

There's a huge grin across Brittany's face. "Thank you," she croaks.

Quinn returns a warm smile to her smart friend. "I love you," she coos.

"I love you too. And, if I can tell you something, I don't want you and Puck to break up."

"Me neither," Q agrees with a frown. "That might be the best choice for us, though."

Brittany is clearly uncomfortable at the idea of their breaking up. "Well, one of my friends told me that I'm smart about love. That means that I can tell Puck loves you."

Quinn's jaw clenches. "How? How can you tell? He's treated me so badly."

"It's the way he looks at you," Brittany explains. "Seriously, he looks at you like you're really scary but, like, super beautiful at the same time. I think he's mean to you because you scare him. Don't go away from him, though, because _that's _what really scares him."

Brittany is a genius.

* * *

He has to see her. They _need _to talk about her birthday. They need to talk about _them_. He's not looking forward to seeing her, as he used to, because there's a slight chance that they're over for good.

God, he's tired of this back-and-forth.

She has no idea that he's on his way. Part of that has to do with the fact that she won't answer his calls, but it's also because he made no effort to tell her. She could, and probably would, tell him not to bother. And that's just unacceptable. There needs to be some kind of dialogue about the state of their relationship.

So here he is, knocking on her door uninvited.

Her eyes widen when they fall on him. For a split second, she looks so happy to see Noah. Joy is quickly replaced with realization, though, and she settles awkwardly. "Hi," she squeaks without offering a hug or kiss.

The inside of his cheek is about to bleed from the bite of his teeth. "Hey," he mutters. "We should talk."

"Shouldn't you be on tour?" she asks with a hint of sarcasm, eyebrow raised high.

He should have expected an attitude, but it annoys him anyways. "Let me come in," he orders curtly, pushing against her stomach with a hand and forcing her to step back and allow access.

"I wish you wouldn't put your hands on me that way," she whimpers.

Once inside, he spins around to glare at her. "I wish you would let me in without me having to put my hands on you that way. I didn't hit you, Q. Don't make this another fight."

She crosses her arms over her chest defensively, and he can see the absence in her eyes. She's already gone. He's never been so afraid to look another human being in the eye, but his face remains hard. She cannot know how vulnerable he's feeling.

"I'm sorry," he sighs after a while. "I'm sorry about your birthday."

She shakes her head. "You're not. I don't believe you."

His anger is rising. "Why are you being like this, Quinn? How come you need to make apologizing so hard?"

"Cut it out, Noah," she screeches. "Stop blaming everything on me. Why don't you take responsibility for _yourself?_ It's not my fault that you're such a douche bag. If you were _sorry_, then you wouldn't keep pulling this crap. That word only means so much until it doesn't mean anything."

Noah's mouth hangs open, and he has no response. He has no response because she's _right, _and he certainly can't say sorry for not having been sorry. He can't say sorry for being unsure if he'll ever change. "Well then what do you want, Quinn?"

"What do _I _want?" she repeats in a cold tone. "Since when do you care about what I want? Now that we're about to break up?"

"Is that it?" he asks. "You want to break up?"

"Christ," she curses, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't know." She throws her hands up and shakes her head at Noah. He's never felt more threatened by someone. "I don't know, Noah. What I want right now is for you to give me space."

"Space."

"Yes, space. Give me time to think about what needs to happen next."

He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Quinn's eyebrows raise skeptically. "You've _had _your say."

So that's it. The future of Puck and Quinn's relationship lies in _her _hands. He's not used to this kind of assertiveness. It's shocking.

"Fine. Think," he snaps before sidestepping her to storm from the apartment.

He can't sleep that night. He can't really _ever _sleep without Quinn, to be exact. Usually, he manages to doze off eventually. There's an obvious void tonight, though. He has to reach out again.

TO QUINN: **I love you.**

**FROM QUINN: **I love you too.

That's their problem. They love each other.


	31. If this was a Movie

**Author's Note: I have nothing to say, but not leaving an AN feels wrong. I will say that I had a different plan for this chapter before writing it, and that has something to do with the fact that the song choice does not completely fit. That's a minor detail, though. Hope you guys are still enjoying. Only 9 more chapters! Feedback, please. Love you!**

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_Last night I heard my own heart beating_

_Sounded like footsteps on my stairs_

_Six months gone and I'm still reaching_

_Even though I know you're not there_

_I was playing back a thousand memories baby_

_Thinking 'bout everything we've been through_

_Maybe I've been going back too much lately_

_When time stood still and I had you_

_Come back, come back, come back to me_

_Like you would, you would if this was a movie_

_Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out_

_Come back, come back, come back to me_

_Like you could, you could if you just said you're sorry_

_I know that we could work it out somehow_

_But if this was a movie you'd be here by now_

* * *

Maybe he doesn't have anything planned.

This is probably just her ego talking. She's worrying for no reason.

That phone call, though.

"Have you spoken to Puck lately?" Quinn asks, finally letting the screaming in her head spill past her lips. She's out to lunch with Santana, distractedly pushing lettuce leaves around her plate. Salad was never her favorite, anyways.

Santana glares at Quinn and takes a chomp from her burger. "Why would I talk to him?" she asks with a mouthful of cooked cow. "That might be the stupidest question that you've ever asked."

"Stop talking with your mouth full, San," Quinn chastises. "I'm just wondering, because he called me the other day and it was really weird."

"Weird," Santana repeats, examining a french fry.

Quinn's nose scrunches up at the way Santana picks apart her food. Why can't she just eat like a normal person? "Yes, weird," she says, flustered. "He wanted to know if I was coming to the concert."

"I don't follow…" Santana trails off, her eyes darting around the room. "How is that weird? He probably needs to know if those VIP tickets are being put to use because it'd be a waste to give them to people who won't go to the concert."

"No, I know," Quinn rolls her eyes and huffs. "I'm not _stupid. _I'm saying that there was obviously something that he was hiding. It sounded like he has something planned."

Santana matches Quinn's eyeroll and tosses a fry back onto her plate. "He's always been terrible at hiding surprises," she observes out loud.

This catches Quinn's attention. She straightens up in the chair and narrows her eyes at Santana. "Surprises? Do you know something."

"Jesus _Christ, _Fabray," San curses. "You're psychotic. I don't _know_." She shrugs her shoulders unconvincingly and quite obviously avoids eye contact.

Santana knows something about this concert. Quinn lets it go, but decides to text Brittany instead.

**TO THING 1: **do u know what puck is hiding about this concert

FROM THING 1: **is this a trick question like that time you asked me what kind of ice**

**cream i wanted when there was none in the house**

**TO THING 1: **no. focus britt. what does noah have planned for the concert this weekend?

FROM THING 1: **i cant remember if im allowed to say**

FROM THING 1:** can i wear ur red thong 2 the club 2night**

That's all Quinn doesn't even respond to Brittany (she'll wear the thong whether Quinn gives permission or not), just dials Puck's number.

"Hey," he answers after the first ring, like he's been expecting her call.

It feels like everybody around her knows this huge secret and Quinn's left out. It annoys her to no end. "What do you have planned?" she breathes. "For the concert, I mean. What do you have planned?"

"The concert?"

"Stop playing stupid, Puckerman," she snaps. "I know you're planning something."

There's silence. Ten seconds of it, to be exact. "Planning something? No, Quinn. I'm not planning anything."

She's glaring. At _who, _she's not sure, because he's not there to glare at. Santana's amused, though. "We're not getting back together," she finally huffs when her creativity fails her and she cannot think of a comeback.

"Right," he retorts.

"I mean it, Noah. We're not. Ever."

"Okay! Fine."

He sounds like he's stifling laughter. Santana _looks _like she's stifling laughter. Everyone else is in on this huge plan. Quinn can't do anything but dramatically slam her phone down on the table and flip Santana off.

This is so bad.

Is it, though?

God, she's so confused.

She doesn't want him back but, oh, she does.

This is _terrible._

* * *

"I don't have a fucking _plan_," Puck curses at Laurie from across the room.

Laurie rolls her eyes and throws a beer can in his direction. He catches it and cracks it open.

"Wait," Laurie says, getting up from the couch to walk over to Puck and take the can from him. "I told you that I'd help you stop drinking," she calls over her shoulder, dumping the beer into his sink before tossing it into a trashcan.

"You're an evil bitch," Puck whines.

Laurie turns around and raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. "Who's helping you with that _plan _that you don't have, Mr. Puckerman?"

So that's it. He has to be nice to her because she's helping him win Quinn back. If he's being honest with himself, though, she's a cool girl. They're _kind of _friends, but don't suggest that to either of them. "So far, you haven't helped at all," he observes.

"Touchdown!" she screeches at the television screen. Yeah, they're watching football together. Well… _she's _watching Football. Normally, he watches with her, but he's trying to have a dialogue about someone important, here.

"Laurie," he shouts, snapping his fingers in front of her face. "The plan. I need one. The concert is in four days."

Laurie lets out an annoyed sigh and turns towards Puck. "Can you calm your titties, please?" she asks. "I've got you covered."

"Do you understand what I'm trying to do here, Laur? I'm trying to get my girl back This isn't something you plan last minute, and I asked for Brittany and Santana to give me their blessing. It _has _to happen _at _the concert."

"If you don't shut up in the next ten seconds, I'll take another beer can and chuck it at your skull. We can't come up with a plan if you keep bitching about how we don't have a plan."

His mouth hangs open momentarily. "I hate you," he mumbles.

"I hate you too. Get a pad of paper."

"For what?"

Another frustrated sigh. "The _plan, _you impossible doofus."

Planning for Operation: Get Quinn Back has officially begun.

T-Minus four days.


	32. Should've Said No

**Author's Note: Greetings! Some housekeeping stuff: I am travelling to NYC tomorrow and will not be back until he 17****th****. I'm staying at a friend's apartment and unsure of the WiFi situation there. If there **_**is **_**a connection available to me, I will be publishing chapters over the course of these next two days. If not, you can expect a chapter by 8 PM (EST) on the 17****th****. **_**This **_**chapter is one that I am, quite frankly, very excited about writing. It's the turning point of all turning points… The moment you've all been waiting for. Hooray!**

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_I can't resist_

_Before you go, tell me this_

_Was it worth it_

_Was she worth this_

_No_

_No, no, no, no_

_You should've said no_

_You should've gone home_

_You should've thought twice before you let it all go_

_You should've known that word of what you did with her would get back to me_

_And I should've been there in the back of your mind_

_I shouldn't be asking myself why_

_You shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet_

_You should've said no, baby_

_And you might still have me_

* * *

"Now, you're sure about this?" Brittany asks, squeezing Quinn's shoulders and staring her in the eye with a look of pure concern.

Quinn immediately nods her head. She's had enough time to think. "Yes," she says. "I'm sure."

"Okay. Because, you know, you could always have some more time to think."

"Brittany," Quinn eases, bracing her hands on the girl's wrists. "I've had enough time to think. I need to do this."

Brittany lets out a sigh. "Just give me a call when you need me, okay? And check under the airplane seats before takeoff. I hear that's where they keep special prizes for their favorite passengers."

With a furrowed brow and a confused smile, Quinn nods her head. "Right. I'll be back in a couple of days, okay? Don't let Lord Tubbington sleep on my bed."

"He likes it," Brittany whines. "It keeps his nightmares away."

"I mean it, Britt," Quinn warns before leaning in for a tight hug. "Love you," she whispers in the girl's ear before turning and forcing her feet to bring her out of the building and into a taxicab.

The truth is, she's not as sure as she sounds. Making the decision to fly to Las Vegas and see Puck wasn't easy. It took a lot of pro/con lists, soul searching and journal writing. Eventually, Quinn came to the conclusion that letting go would be too painful. It wouldn't make sense either, because their flame still burnt clear and bright. Just because there are some bumps in the road, they shouldn't just drop everything they've worked so hard for. Right? He knows where she stands now, after their last fight. There's no way he'll treat her like crap again after the way she stood up for herself. She has a good feeling about this. They just needed to have a rough patch that accounted for their whole life together. Both of them are over it now, and they're ready to grow. As long as he understands that she is not to be pushed around or taken advantage of, they can move on. Together. Now that she knows that this is what she wants, she can't wait to see him. So she bought a plane ticket to Vegas without telling him. It'll be great—a bittersweet reunion to celebrate the promises they'll make to each other.

Quinn is practically vibrating with excitement by the time her plane lands. She's annoyed that the airport staff takes as long as they do to fetch her a driver, but he (Ed) pulls up outside a few minutes later. "The Venetian, please," she practically barks at her driver. Poor guy.

"You're Noah Puckerman's girl, right?" Ed asks after they've been on the road for a few minutes. She's forgotten how famous Noah's become and, in return, how famous _she's _become.

Blush paints her face and she lets out a bashful giggle. She loves being called that. "Yes," she chirps. "In the flesh."

Ed does not look amused. He looks worried, even. "How are you guys doing?" he asks nervously. He's obviously never heard of boundaries. "I mean, are you going to break up?"

Oh. Right. The whole world knows about their fighting. "No," Quinn spits curtly. "We're not breaking up. In fact, I'm here in Vegas to surprise him. We're turning over a new leaf."

"Right…" he trails off skeptically. He doesn't speak for the rest of the drive, and that annoys Quinn. Who does he think he is, anyways? Asking her such personal questions? She's paying him for a ride to the hotel, not for an interrogation. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and she pouts until they arrive at the hotel.

"Hello," she sing-songs at the desk attendant. "Can I ask you what room Noah Puckerman's in?"

The desk attendant, Lindsay, looks up from her desk and purses her lips at Quinn. "Do you _know _him?" She sounds extremely put out and annoyed, like Quinn's presence is just such a burden.

Q's eyebrows raise. "Um… yes?" she answers, shooting attitude right back at Lindsay. "I'm his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend," Lindsay repeats with a snort.

This concerns Quinn. What does Lindsay, the desk attendant, know that she doesn't? "Yes," she sneers with narrow eyes. "Girlfriend."

"Quinn! Hey!" she hears behind her. It's Finn's voice.

Quinn cocks her head at Lindsay with an _I told you so _smirk before turning to ay hello. "Hey, Finn. Where's Puck?"

Finn looks distraught. He knows something too. "Um… Does he know you're here?"

Quinn huffs. "Why is everyone being so shady? I came to surprise my boyfriend in Vegas."

"Okay, relax," Finn eases. "He's in room 410."

"Thanks," she mutters. Without waiting for another awkward moment to pass, she turns and marches into the elevator, pressing the number **4 **with more force than necessary. She pushes it a second time, and then a third. Just in case.

After following her nose around corners and cursing how ridiculously huge and fancy this hotel is, she arrives at Puck's room. This is it—their new, better chapter is about to begin.

Her hands grip the doorknob shakily. She has to give herself a pep talk before opening. She wasn't nervous about this before her run-in with Finn. Now, for some reason, she's unsure. After a deep breath, she opens up with a slightly forced grin.

"Noah… Where are—What the _fuck_?"

* * *

He shoots up in bed at the sound of her voice.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Quinn," he croaks. "Shit! It's not what it looks like."

Her eyes are wide and full of so, so much pain. "You're seriously going to say that to me right now?" she screeches through the tears that already stain her porcelain skin.

The body next to Puck stirs. "Could you keep it down, Puckerman?" they snap. They roll over, open their eyes and sit up, revealing themself. It's Kitty. "Whoa," she scoffs in reaction o seeing Quinn. "This is awkward."

Quinn's chest is heaving, and Noah swears he could kill himself for putting that expression on her face. "Are you fucking him?" she asks weakly, like the fact that they're in the same bed isn't enough of an indicator.

"Kitty…" Noah warns in a harsh tone.

The girls face scrunches up in fake sympathy and she nods her head slowly. "Yeah," she answers. "I have been for a few days now."

"Kitty! God, you're a bitch," Noah screams. He turns a panicked expression towards Quinn. "Baby, let me explain."

Quinn holds up a hand to cut Noah off before using it to wipe her face. It's no use, really. The tears keep on rolling in a stream that's more steady than Quinn and Puck's relationship has _ever _been. Her feet move forward before he can wrap his brain around this situation.

As soon as she reaches the bed, her hand makes contact with Puck's skin with a loud _smack. _"You will _never _have me again," she sobs.

Noah's hand is gripping his cheek while he attempts to register the pain of her smack. He deserves it, he knows he does, but it's still shocking. "Quinn…" he tries weakly.

She's circled to the other side of the bed. Kitty doesn't see the smack to _her _face coming, but it makes a noise that's just as loud. "_You _will never be _me," _she promises seriously in between short sobs.

And then she walks away.


	33. State of Grace

**Author's Note: I'm home! My trip to NYC was fabulous, in case any of you were wondering. Have you been dying for an update? Because I've been dying to **_**write **_**one—specifically this one. Been thinking of it for the past three days. Taking a break from writing was nice, but I'm glad to be back into the swing of things. I'm excited about this update. It might upset some of you, but keep an open mind and a forgiving heart. **

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

_This is a state of grace_

_This is the worthwhile fight_

_Love is a ruthless game_

_Unless you play it good and right_

_These are the hands of fate_

_You're my Achilles heel_

_This is the golden age _

_Of something good and right and real_

* * *

Concerts have never made her nervous. In fact, after Noah's popularity grew, concerts became her favorite thing. She loves the energy, she loves music and she _loves _knowing that everyone around her forgets their problems for one night just because of their desire to dance. It's a beautiful concept, really.

Tonight will be anything but beautiful. Quinn feels very strongly about that. Deciding to accept the VIP tickets was a terrible idea. She's tried to cancel, but Santana and Brittany insist on her attendance. It's because they know what Noah has planned. _Everyone _seems to know about this plan of his. That's what makes her nervous: this plan. She doesn't want to fall in love again, which she knows would be easy if she let herself. They'll only break each other over and over again. At some point, it has to stop. When will she put her foot down and say _Enough_?

"Would you loosen up a little, Fabray?" Santana snaps from behind her.

Quinn rolls her eyes and tries to act nonchalant. "I _am _loosened up," she sneers. "It's just weird being back at one of his concerts."

The Unholy Trinity, with the exception of waitors and waitresses, are the only people in the VIP box. It's decked out in white Christmas lights, a huge buffet of food and comfortable leather chairs. The box is placed above the rest of the seats and close to the stage. They have a perfect view of the band—Quinn has a _perfect _view of Noah. This was a terrible idea. They've been here for two hours, though, and nothing has happened so far. The band has gone through the set list without any bumps in the road, earning wild applause from the audience and carrying on normally.

So maybe he _doesn't _have anything planned. Maybe it was all in her head.

Then, suddenly, the band stops playing.

"I'd like to say something," Puck announces into his microphone after clearing his throat.

All of a sudden, Quinn is holding her breath.

* * *

"I'd like to say something," he repeats shakily.

This is it. This is _his _moment. Noah Puckerman doesn't get nervous but, God, his hands are sweaty. His eyes stay connected to Quinn's. She's only a tiny figure from way up in that box, but seating her closer would mean that she wouldn't get treated as luxuriously as she is. And she needs the best. So he forces his eyes to stay trained on her through the box window.

He clears his throat again and tightens his grip on the mic. White knuckles.

"I need to tell a story. You're all really amazing fans, and I think that it's fair for me to share my life with you, especially something that I'm so passionate about. I'm nervous, though, so go easy on me."

He's talking to the crowd, but he's _talking _to Quinn. She looks terrified—what he can see of her, anyways.

"I had a shitty childhood. Shocking, right? My father was a huge douche bag, which I'm sure a lot of you can relate to. I won't go into detail about what happened, because I'd like to keep _some _things private. Growing up in that kind of environment really does something to a person though, you know? I got used to acting real tough all the time and pretending that I don't care about anything. Life is easier that way. Life is _comfortable. _I bet a lot of you are afraid to trust anyone, and I bet you have good reason to be this way, so I'm sure you understand. It isn't easy for fuck-ups like me to admit that they're in love. That's why, when a certain girl entered my life, I immediately flew into self-defense mode. There's a moment that everyone experiences at some point. Sooner or later, you'll have your moment. You're going to take one look at a person and _need _them. That invisible string that everybody talks about is _not _fake after all—It's there, and it'll pull you towards this person. I had my moment. I felt the pull and, initially, I went with it. It was hard for me to realize that she was the _one _at first. You know, I was careless. I thought it'd be a fling, since that's all I was used to. Jesus, she had a hold on me, though. It's like I couldn't get enough of her. Being with her made me feel high in the best way. Nobody's ever made me feel so completely happy and so terrified at the same time. At some point, it occurred to me that this girl could do some serious damage. I realized that I _shouldn't _have given her my heart in the first place. She was only going to break it and, in the process, break _me. _That's what I was conditioned to believe—that only heartbreak exists. I've been conditioned to trust nobody but myself with my heart. I've been conditioned to believe in the end: the messy, sad, painful end. Here I was, having given my heart to somebody who could easily decide that she doesn't want it anymore. And I just couldn't have that. There's a basic instinct that all mammals have that drives self-defense against danger. Well, I realized how dangerous this being _in love _was. So I did what anyone would do in a risky situation and I defended myself—I turned hard again. This girl fought against my self-defense as best as she could, and I continued to fight back. I treated her really badly, and I'm sure you all know. _Everyone _knows, and that's what's terrible about this whole thing. The world watched me act like a dick and break my one true love's heart. Not only did I embarrass myself, but I embarrassed her. I just couldn't let her have my heart, so I took it away before she could get a steady hold on it. I did these things because I felt something that I strongly believed I shouldn't have. You know, I was selfish. I tried saving myself, and then I lost her. It took a while for the regret to kick in but, when it did, it hurt like hell. For the past months, I've never wanted to be in danger more. A lot of lessons have been learned. The most important lesson, though, is that you can't know true salvation until you feel naked first. Comfort was convenient, but I wasn't surviving. You know, you need a lot of things to survive. You need food and water and shelter, but nobody tells you that you need _love. _Without it, you won't survive. You just won't. There's a lot of bad things in this world, and there has to be some kind of light in your life to keep you from being swallowed whole by sadness. I let go of my light because I was sure she'd hurt me, but losing her hurt even more. And I need her back, you guys. I'm not surviving. I know that you all know what I did, but I'm hoping that you believe in second chances. Nothing has ever made me hate myself more. Drinking may have had something to do with it—I got that from my dad. It made me numb, being drunk. Numb is a good thing to be when your heart is broken. Well, I think you should all now that I have officially quit drinking. I can't join Alcoholics Anonymous, because being famous defeats the _anonymous _part, but I'll be attending rehab within the next couple of months. After that, I'll be seeing a regular therapist. I'm getting my act together. This might be a really personal thing to share with you guys, but I want you to know that it's never to late for you to turn things around. If you're feeling trapped like me, get some goddamn help. We'll do it together. Find something to get better _for_—_my_ something is here tonight, in the audience. Quinn, baby, I'm sorry for embarrassing you again by talking about this publicly. I needed to get it all out on the table, and I needed you to know that I am yours. I've always _been _yours. Maybe you'll never be mine again, but I'll be yours forever. I'm so sorry for breaking you. I'm sorry for blaming anybody but myself. I'm ready now, though. I'm ready to give you my heart and let you break it as much as you want. I need you to come down here, now, so that I can kiss you. Please."

Quinn stands still in the box. She's crying. Sobbing, actually. He can't tell if they're good tears or bad tears. The whole _world _has stopped around him, the audience absolutely silent and focused on Quinn. Perhaps he's just humiliated the two of them for the umpteenth time. If she doesn't move soon, he'll cry. He knows he will.

She turns around, walks out from the box, and appears in a doorway towards the back of the general seating area. There's a ghost of a smile on her face, and that's when Noah knows. She is his again. The whole audience knows, actually, and they all stand up to applaud for her. It's magic. Noah's skin is prickling, his chest heaving with the anticipation of really _having _his girl back.

"Guys, guys, guys," he chants into the microphone, struggling to get words out past his newfound joy. "There's daisies next to the outside seats. Daisies are her favorites. When she walks by, give her the one that's next to your seat. Take them, Quinn."

Quinn starts her walk. It's like she's crawling at snail-speed when, in reality, it _looks _like she's practically jogging. In Noah's mind, she can't move fast enough. Their bodies can't be close to each other soon enough. His lips can't miss hers any longer. She travels down the aisle like a beauty queen, collecting dozens of daisies before making it to the stage. By the time she's up front, her face is stained with so many happy tears, and so is Noah's. So what if he's crying? He just got his girl back.

"Come here," he orders softly, nodding towards the stairs.

She climbs the stairs nervously, daisies in hand, and meets Noah in the middle of the stage. The audience stops cheering. You could hear a pin drop. Quinn's chest is heaving, her body shaking, and she seems to nervous to say anything.

His strong arm snakes around her waist and pulls her close, keeping a firm grip on what's his, and their lips crash into each other in the most perfect way.

All is right in the world again.


	34. A Perfectly Good Heart

**Author's Note: Hey you guys! It was interesting to see the mixed feedback on the last chapter. Glad you're still reading along, those of you who don't agree with that story development. There will be more backup for Puck so that their getting back together seems more understandable. Also, I know that you guys love this story, but please don't be upset with me when I miss a day or two. It's really hard for me to always post so often, so be patient. I won't forget about this fic. The next one that I write won't be updated as frequently as this one because I'm moving back to school tomorrow. That's also the reason why I probably won't update tomorrow, either. I'll try. **

* * *

**PAST TENSE**

_Why would you want to break a perfectly good heart_

_Why would you want to take our love_

_And tear it all apart now_

_Why would you want to make the very first scar_

_Why would you want to break a perfectly good heart_

* * *

"Let me leave," she begs.

"Don't," he shouts back in her face, his arms gripping hers tightly and giving a slight, needy shake. "Don't go."

Quinn's hand grips Noah's and forces it away from her arm, not without a grunt from the force she needed to use. "Noah Elijah Puckerman, let me go _now,_"

He's crying now, and it takes all of her willpower not to scoop him back up and comfort him. She can't stand seeing him cry. "Please don't leave me, Quinn."

She's taken a few steps back from him at this point, her arms crossed over her chest defensively. "You cheated on me," she reminds him. "As if I didn't already have good reason to have left you months ago."

"I know I'm a fuck up," he cries. It's weird—Boys don't usually cry. Especially boys named Noah Puckerman. "I can change, Quinn. If you'd let me, I can change."

"Noah, knock it off," she demands, holding up a hand to quiet him. "I have been with you for over a year. The past six months have been nothing but hell, and _none _of it is my fault. I've put up with your drinking, your aggression, your possessiveness and lying. How many times have I taken care of you like a baby because you were too drunk to function? How many times did I swallow my pride and let you scream at me for the stupidest shit? How many times did I let you use your _father _as an excuse for your ridiculous behavior? I've loaned you money, none of which I've seen repaid to me, and I never thought twice about it. I've stayed up late every night that you had practice, just to welcome you home and let you talk about your day. Every night you woke up from those _stupid _fucking nightmares, I had your favorite books ready on the nightstand to read to you until you fell back asleep. I've cooked food for you, let you stay over when you and Finn fought, listened to countless stories about your terrible childhood, and broken my back making sure that _you _were happy. Because that's all I cared about. All I wanted was for you to be happy, because I thought that would mean my own happiness. Most of the time, you were too self-absorbed to do anything for me. I'm not a selfish person, Noah, but once in a while a 'thank you' would be nice. It would make picking up your messes a lot more worth it. This has to stop now. I should have drawn the line at the New Year's party, because everything has gotten worse since then. You've done nothing but ignore me, scream at me, and bitch at me about things that are completely out of my control. Every time you've apologized, I have believed you. I've made excuses for you for months, embarrassing myself and ignoring everything that anyone says. I did it all for love, Noah. You don't love me. _This _is not how you treat somebody that you love, and the line is drawn at cheating. It's engraved into pavement. You and I are finished. Forever. Save the apologies. Save the _I can get better_s. If you wanted to fix us, you would've recognized the problem long ago and done something to better yourself. Don't blame anybody but yourself. _You _did this to us, and now you need to let me go."

He's speechless and, despite her rant, she wishes he'd say something. She doesn't _want _this to be over, but she knows that it _needs _to be.

Quinn's learned that there is a big difference between _wanting _something and _needing _it.

When he can't get words out, she forces her mouth shut. She's said everything that she needs to say, so now it's time to go. So she does. She practically _sprints _from his apartment and into her car, afraid that she'll change her mind and turn around.

Quinn shouldn't be driving. Just always told her not to drive if she's upset. Apparently, it's dangerous. She needs to get home, though. She needs to get as far away from his house as possible. She needs to curl up in bed and cry herself to sleep, as she's gotten so used to doing. She needs to fall into a sleep and have dreams about perfect love. Because she understands now that perfect love does not exist in this world. Now she knows that her dreams will always be so much more beautiful than reality. Reality is killing her.

* * *

Puck shouldn't be drinking. His mother, Henriette, always told him not to drink is he's upset. Apparently, it's dangerous. He needs alcohol to survive, though. He needs to become as numb as possible. He needs to drink himself into a state of oblivion, as he's gotten so used to doing. He needs to slip into a dreamlike state, because he understands now that being drunk is so much easier than facing reality. Reality is killing him.


	35. Untouchable

**Author's Note: Everything from this point on is present tense. The chapters will also be shorter because the story is coming to a close. Hope you're enjoying! More feedback, please!**

* * *

_Untouchable, like a distant diamond sky_

_I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why_

_I'm caught up in you_

_I'm caught up in you_

_Untouchable, burning brighter than the sun_

_And when you're close I feel like coming undone_

_In the middle of the night, when I'm in this dream_

_It's like a million little stars spelling out your name_

_You gotta come on, come on_

_Say that we'll be together_

_Come on, come on_

_Little taste of heaven_

* * *

"I'll be gone for two months," he says calmly, trailing his finger over her naked leg.

Quinn knows that rehab is the best decision that Puck's ever made. She wants him to go and get some help, but they've just rekindled things. He's going away now. "Two months is a long time," she squeaks.

Noah sits up a bit, untangling their legs and reaching for her face with gentle fingers. "Hey," he coos, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "You can visit after the first week. I need to do this, Quinn."

"I know," she agrees sadly, avoiding eye contact. She takes a deep breath and chews on her bottom lip. "This seems to easy."

"What does?" he asks, reaching for her hand and kissing the tips of each finger.

His lips are distracting, and she swallows the desire to reach out and pull him close. "_This. _Letting you back in like this. Us. I don't know. A week ago, I swore we were over for good. I'm scared that things are going to end just as badly."

Noah frowns and drops his hand. She feels bad for giving him the run-around but, dammit, she deserves to be confused right now. "I'm going to rehab to learn how to handle my anger. None of this would have happened if I was able to manage myself, and I won't leave until I'm fixed. After two months, if I don't feel ready to come home and live on my own, I'll stay. I've never wanted anything more than I want to get better, Quinn. You need to believe me. Please stick around long enough to see me get better this time. I said that too many times before and never actually did anything. I'm an alcoholic, but I am still the man that you fell in love with. My alcoholism doesn't define me, and I'm finally doing something about it. I promise you that we will be the same again if you just hold onto a little bit of hope."

Quinn swallows the lump in her throat and reaches up. This time, she's brushing _his _cheek. "I'm going to be scared for a long time. You need to earn my trust and prove that you can handle a relationship. A lot of things are broken here, and time is the only thing that's going to heal them. Give me time to be angry, okay? I'm not going to leave you again, but I am mad at you. I'll be mad at you for a long time. It's going to take a few miracles for me to ever trust you again."

"Does managing my alcoholism count as a miracle?" he asks sheepishly.

Quinn nods with a melancholy smirk after considering his question. "If you stick with it. Let's see how everything goes before defining anything okay? You're going to want to quit halfway through. Don't. If you want to be with me, you won't quit. Because I'm not going to be with you until you get this drinking problem under control."

"Are you going to come visit me?"

That's a good question that Quinn certainly never considered. "I don't know. With your permission, I'll call the rehab center and make sure that you've made progress after a week. If they tell me that you're on the right track, I'll come visit you. You can't see me until you make progress. You need to earn it. You need to earn _me….._And seeing me would be a distraction." Quinn's rather shocked at her sense of entitlement. She's guarded now, though, and ground rules officially come before feelings. It's sad, but that's the way it is.  
Noah shakes his head. "You're not a distraction. You're everything."

"Stop," Quinn interrupts, holding up a hand. "You don't need to try so hard anymore. I'm here, okay? The rule stands. Make progress after a week and then we'll talk. There will be no Quinn Fabray in your life until then."

Now he looks slightly panicked. Shit. She's forgotten how much words count for.

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that," she soothes, reaching forward to comfort him with a gentle kiss. "I'm in your life for good. You need to earn my heart back. That's all."

"I will," he answers immediately. He sounds determined.

It's the first time she's believed in his determination.

He's going to get better, and she's going to be there to see it.


	36. Holy Ground

**Author's Note: Didn't think the awesome vacation time could last too long, could you? Nope. My life has officially been swallowed whole by school again. Sigh. Here's another chapter for you! **

* * *

_Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress,__  
__We had this big wide city all to ourselves.__  
__We blocked the noise with the sound of 'I need you',__  
__And for the first time I had something to lose,__  
__And I guess we fell apart in the usual way.__  
__And the story's got dust on every page,__  
__But sometimes I wonder how you think about it now.__  
__And I see your face in every crowd._

* * *

"Quinn! What made you finally take Puck back? Was it the daisies at his concert?"

"Noah! You going to cheat on Quinn again?"

Paparazzi wasted no time bombarding Noah and Quinn since their reunion. Both of them were tired of it but, together, they could handle anything. They couldn't expect the world to accept their getting back together without any problems.

The last question pisses Puck off, though. Quinn could tell by the way his hand clenched around hers. He stops in his tracks, pulling Quinn into his side and glares at the photographer. "No, asshole, I'm not going to cheat again. I'm not going to drink again, either. I'm never going to break this girl's heart again, so how's about you fuck off?"

Watching him scold the paparazzi was, admittedly, a turn on. Quinn stifled a smile and tried to calm him down. "Noah, stop. It's no big deal."

"Yes, it _is _a big deal. I'm so sick of everyone being up our assholes. Does anyone else have a question, or can we move on?"

The photographers are having a fucking field day. All of them as flashing pictures of Noah's rage. These are sure to turn up on magazine covers tomorrow. Quinn cringes at the thought. For the most part, they all stay quiet while their cameras flash. One paparazzo has the balls to _actually _ask a question, though.

"Thoughts on Riley and Laurie, Quinn?"  
Her brow furrows. What is that supposed to mean? Quinn pushes up on her toes and cranes her neck to search the sea of paparazzi, but can't find the one who asked the question. "What _about_ Riley and Laurie?" she asks hesitantly.

"Haven't you heard?" asks the same photographer. She's spotted him now. He was hard to spot because he's about four feet tall. Not really, but he's really goddamn short. "They're dating."

Puck snorts and coughs awkwardly. He's just as shocked as Quinn. "Excuse me. _What? _Riley, Quinn's ex-Riley, and my ex-Laurie? They're dating? Like…. Each _other_?"

"Yeah, dude."

Quinn's not surprised. Laurie likes her sloppy seconds…. Even though Noah _definitely _isn't sloppy. It should hurt her ego, knowing that her ex-boyfriend's moved on so quickly, but all that matters is the fact that she and Puck are working on things. She turns her head to look at Noah and gauge his reaction. His eyes are widened, focused on hers. After a few seconds, both of them burst out laughing.

The photographers are shocked. Surely, they were trying to stir up some kind of negative feeling. Because that would make for an awesome story. "You think it's funny?" one of them asks.

Puck needs to collect himself before speaking. "Dude, it doesn't matter. I have my girl. Riley and Laurie can do what they want."

Without waiting for anymore questions, Quinn squeezes Noah's hand and they turn to leave. All of a sudden, the camera flashes and hoards of people are easier to handle. Because, for the first time in a long time, their smiles didn't feel forced. It was the first time they felt like moving on wouldn't be impossible.

They are going to be okay.


	37. Ours

**Author's Note: Here I am! Clawing my way out of the endless abyss of homework and social things to write another chapter. This one is for Ashley.**

* * *

_Don't you worry your pretty little mind_

_People throw rocks at things that shine_

_And life makes love look hard_

_The stakes are high_

_The water's rough_

_But this love is ours_

* * *

She knew that visiting Judy wouldn't go smoothly. It never did but, ever since taking Noah back, she's been expecting some kind of confrontation. Every time she thinks about it, there needs to be a mental reminder of her intentions. No matter how much Judy pisses her off, she's Quinn's mother. She's actually Quinn's _only _parent. There needs to be some kind of relationship. That doesn't make this argument any easier for Quinn to deal with.

"I knew you were going to bring him up," Quinn growls under her breath, tapping her fork on the plate of spaghetti in front of her.

Judy is staring at Quinn like she's a ticking time bomb. "Sweetie, I just don't understand your logic," she coos, trying her best to sound unthreatening. Quinn's braced for a fight so, maybe, she's being touchier than usual.

"You _never _understand anything that I do, Mom," she starts. "You always question my logic. _Logic. _Why, Mom? How come I can't forget about logic for once?"

"Queen, dear, what you're doing with Noah is dangerous. He's going to hurt you again."

"Maybe he will," Q snaps. Her fork has officially been set down (very loudly). "In fact, I can almost _guarantee _his hurting me again. And you want to know what? _I'm _going to hurt _him _again. That's what _happens, _Mom. Sometimes we make mistakes and hurt each other. None of that matters as much as my love for Noah, though, so I wish you'd shut up. I know what I'm doing by getting back together with him. I know that it's dangerous, but I tried safe. _Riley _was safe, and I hated being with him. I want dangerous, because it's the only thing that's ever made me really happy. Stop trying to make sense of everything around you. You can't. You just can't. I'm a big girl. I seriously don't need you to take care of me anymore."

Judy's mouth opens and closes, like she's fighting an internal battle between arguing and letting it go. She finally decides to let it go. "Fine."

They finish their spaghetti in silence. Quinn has won the battle.

Another battle closer to winning this whole damn war.

* * *

"Your girlfriend just called," the nurse says. Her name is Kate. She's dressed in scrubs that are too tight on her. "She'll be here in a half hour."

Noah sits up from his bed and grabs the soda on his nightstand. He's been in rehab for a week and three days. Apparently, his progress is very impressive.

He groans. "A half hour is too long…."

Kate's face screws up. "Noah, if I may? You've been here for a week and a half. You can survive another half hour." Kate is cool. Noah likes Kate. She's a recovered alcoholic turned rehab-nurse, so she doesn't talk down to him or belittle him.

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbles with a smirk, tossing back a swig of soda. Kate disappears and Noah has time to sit alone and think about how fucking excited he is to see his girl. He hasn't even spoken to her on the _phone. _A whole week and a half without hearing her voice. Her perfect, bell-like voice. Part of him didn't expect her to stick to her no-contact rule but, God, she did.

Ten minutes of excited thinking passes before he dozes off. "Hey, asshole, wake up," he hears. Then he hears a giggle, followed by the most delicious brushing of tiny fingers across his face.

Puck blinks his eyes open and connects them with the most beautiful, hazel pair he's ever seen. "Quinn…? Quinn!" he squeals like a little girl. In the next instant, his arms are snaked around her tiny body and crushing it to his. "I'm so happy to see you, baby," he mumbles into her hair. "They said you wouldn't be here for another half hour."

"Well…. I can leave and come back in a half hour if you want," she grunts out. It sounds like, maybe, the intensity of their hug is making breathing kind-of difficult.

He only squeezes harder. "Don't you dare go anywhere," he warns, his tone vulnerable.

Her fingers scratch at the stubble where his hairline ends at the nape of his neck. "I'm not going anywhere," she promises. She smells so good. Like perfume and Quinn. God, he missed her smell. "I can't breathe. Stop squeezing me so hard."

That's the only reason his grip loosens. "Don't go anywhere," he asks again, pulling away to look her in the eye and beg with his expression.

"Shut up," she coos, smiling sweetly. "I'm not going anywhere."

He grins, relieved. He knows that she's steadfast, but hearing her say it is comforting. "I'm doing so much better, you know."

Her grin matches his. "I've heard. The people who work here have nothing but good things to say about you."

There's a moment, Noah realizes, that he must take to drink her in. Everything about her. Honey-blonde hair, hazel eyes, candy lips, milky skin. His perfect girl. His utopia. "Jesus. I missed you."

"I missed you too, Noah."

And then they kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.


	38. Begin Again

**Author's Note: This story is coming to an end! How rewarding it has been to go on this adventure with you guys. One more chapter and en epilogue from now, this book will be closed. I will be another story in the very near future—Faberry! I'm so glad that you guys have received this story so warmly, and I hope that you'll stick with me through more fics. Ciao!**

* * *

_I've been spending the last eight months_

_Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end_

_But on a Wednesday in a café_

_I watched it begin again_

* * *

Forgiveness is a lot about forgetting. That's why the two are usually mentioned in the same breath—forgive _and _forget. It's easy to say that somebody is forgiven but, if you find yourself wandering back and remembering their mistakes, maybe they're not entirely forgiven. Forgiveness means being able to let go and grow from mistakes, even if they're not your own. You learn a lot about yourself from the trials put forth by true love. There's a lot of discovery involved in forgiving somebody. One important discovery that everyone will, at some point, make is an undying flame that burns hot and bright for _one _person. You can never really know that it's there until you have to forgive them. This flame burns from the second you meet that person and, although you may feel it, you cannot truly know it until the ultimatum is faced. To stand by your one true love or walk away from any risk of getting burned? After forgiveness comes forgetting about the past. After forgiveness comes the realization that this flame may never be extinguished— then adding_ more _fuel for a hotter, brighter, more dangerous, infinitely more beautiful flame. Because you realize that you'd rather get burned by something magnificent than never feel anything at all. And, honestly, playing with fire _means _a little bit of charring.

Quinn reaches this conclusion on a regular basis. It comes at unexpected moments and places, when Noah is completely and totally unaware of her intense focus on him. She will sit up straighter at the kitchen table and watch him play with his food like a first grader and, when the guarded side of her tries to remember their past, her lips curl up at her sheer inability to feel anything but their _right now. _Sometimes he listens to music and, without knowing that Quinn is watching, lets a couple of tears go because the melodies are _that _beautiful. It hits her at times like that, too. When he's using his strong fingers to tap the steering wheel and match the beat of his favorite songs, it hits her. Late at night, when the world is still, Quinn rolls over in bed and lets her hazel eyes land on a sleeping Noah. As his chest rises and falls in perfect sync with hers, she realizes that he is forgiven five thousand times.

She doesn't usually say anything during these moments. They are her favorite secrets. Short moments of bliss that enter and leave her as fast as they hit. She likes to keep them to herself.

Today has been a never-ending one of those moments. They are so happy. _She _is so happy. It's about three weeks since his leaving rehab. Both of them have been sharing joy in simplicity. There's no pressure to do or say anything extravagant together. Instead, they like to stay in and read or take casual strolls hand-in-hand. Today, though, Quinn and Noah have decided to go to a café.

Actually, it's _the _café. The one in Londontown from their first date. They've been sitting at their window table for the past hour, going from chatty to quiet and feeling okay with the changing paces. At moments, one of them has a lot to say to the other and, at others, both of them love the silence. Noah's brought his guitar along, because _Courage 2.0 _needs new songs for their record and he's in charge of writing some.

When it hits Quinn this time, Noah's nose is buried in the scrap paper before him, guitar on his knee, guitar pick in between his teeth. He's barely touched his second coffee, because this song is one that he is very excited about. Quinn lets him have all the time in the world to find his words, perfectly content with people watching and sipping tea. She glances over though, out of curiosity, and reads the title of his song.

_Lucy. _The song is called _Lucy. _Quinn's chest tightens and pulls towards her favorite man. Her eyes fall back to the paper as his hand writes the word _My _in front of her own name.

_My Lucy. _


	39. Mine

**Author's Note: Last chapter before the epilogue. Sad day, but I am so proud of this story!**

* * *

_Every time I look at you_

_It's like the first time_

_I fell in love with a careless man's careful daughter_

_She is the best thing that's ever been mine_

* * *

"Are you trying to make a point?"

Quinn barely hears the question, too engrossed in her own decision between pink shirt or purple shirt. It's been a day to herself, full of shopping and writing and thinking. She and Noah have learned that, sometimes, time apart is not a bad thing. As long as they're not _really _apart. She hears the voice behind her and immediately feels sick, whipping around to come face to face with him.

Russell.

She gasps, her grip on purse over her shoulder tightening. "Russell," she squeaks.

"You'll call me _Father_," He corrects, face hard.

She swallows the lump in her throat and straightens up. "Russell," she repeats with a shaky voice, no longer intimidated enough to follow his orders. He wasn't going to cause a scene in the middle of public shopping area. Surely, he wasn't.

Now he looks mad, but he doesn't move. Quinn's skin is prickling, her ears ringing. She is frozen and terrified, not having seen her father in years. "Answer my question, Lucy. Are you trying to make a point?"

She's too distracted by the sound of his voice saying her _real _name. "Am…. Am I tr-tying to make a point about _what_?" she mumbles, her face flush with fear.

"This man you're seeing. Is this your way of getting back at me for leaving?"

Quinn's eyebrows knit together. "What? What are you _saying_?"

Russell takes a step closer, towering over Quinn, and she takes a step back. "This is a stunt. I know it is. You're too smart to get involved with someone like him."

She sucks in a huge breath. "Someone like _him_?" she asks. "Russell, I—"

He cuts her off with is index pointer pointing straight into her soul. "You want me to see what a train wreck your life has become since my leaving so that I'll come back and save you from the drunk rockstar."

"Fuck yourself," Quinn snaps. That was the last straw for her, really. Russell has a way of showing up whenever he wants to, and Quinn is done resisting the urge to fight back. "I hardly think _you're _in any place to tell me what a good man is, Russell. You haven't been around in years. Noah Puckerman is a _good _man. I want you to stay out of my life. You've had no problem staying gone for as long as you have, so don't come back again. Oh, and Russell? If you go anywhere _near _Mom, I will make your life hell. You can't decide when you want to be my dad. You're my father, but you are _not _my dad. Leave."

Her chest is heaving now. That happens when she gets angry enough. She hasn't recognized the ringing in her ears until now. Russell is taken aback, his face red, expression puzzled. "Didn't _his _dad beat the shit out of him?" he asks with a scratchy voice. "When he was a kid. I'm pretty sure I read that in a magazine somewhere. You know that's a learned behavior. Noah Puckerman is a good man until he turns into his dad and beats the shit out of _you_, Lucy. Just wait. It'll happen. Maybe it'll be a good thing when he does, though. Clearly, you need someone to take care of that mouth of yours and teach you some respect."

Russell turns and leaves before Quinn's brain can finish processing what he's just said. It hits her like a ton of bricks, sending her stomach into twists and turns and sending a sudden wave of nausea over her body. She feels the tears well in her eyes, chin quivering, skin prickling. She needs to leave this store. Now. She has to go see him.

She has to go see her Noah.

* * *

Yeah, they agreed that some days apart were healthy for their relationship, but that didn't make it any easier. Noah would always want Quinn close to him. He's happy to give her the day to shop and do girly things alone but, now, he wants to spend the night with her. It's getting close to the close of a long evening feeling bored and missing Quinn. He's watched about nine episodes of Friends when there's a knock on the door.

"Yo!" he calls out, changing the channel quickly. Friends is a girls' show. "It's open!"

It's probably Sam, or another band member. That's what Noah is expecting, anyways, until the door opens and his girl appears. She's crying, too, and the sight of her wet eyes is enough to send Puck shooting up to greet her with open arms.

"Quinn, baby, what's the matter?" he asks, thumbs instinctively wiping the tears from her under eyes. "Are you hurt?"

God, she needs to stop crying. Seeing her cry is the actual worst. He's pretty sure his heart is going to split in half after is stops beating.

"N-No…. I'm not hurt. I saw Russell."

Russell. Fucking Russell. Noah feels angry without another second's passing. "What did he do?" Noah growls.

Quinn shakes her head, Noah's favorite tiny nose sniffing back more tears. "He just… It doesn't matter. I just came here to tell you that I love you."

It catches her breath. Quinn's voice is so raw and honest when she confesses her love for the millionth time that he can't help the sudden lump in his throat.

"I love you, too," he promises. Because it _is _a promise. "Always."

And then they kiss.


End file.
